


St Balderich Slays the Dragon

by Lacertae, missixo



Series: God Among Men [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse of Facial Hair, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assume most of the dialogue is in German, Early Crisis, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fix-It, M/M, Omnics, Pre-Crisis, Pre-Overwatch, Spies, attempted world domination, or with German accents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-03-29 23:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13938018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae, https://archiveofourown.org/users/missixo/pseuds/missixo
Summary: The humans are right to fear omnics and what they can do. What he can and will do to humanity. He is Jörmungandr, and he will see humanity fall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in a long time, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Dust catches and grinds in his joints, greys his plating. The white finish that had been so pristine in the omnium quickly looks as filthy as the ruined city around him.

 

Torn trousers hang off his frame, snatched from a broken store window. He hadn't thought he would need them, but he quickly realized how out of place he looked without _something_ to cover him, even among those who had little to spare. It also disconcerted the organics, not that he particularly cares about their comfort, but he needs to draw as little attention as possible.

 

He wanders, looking for others going the same way, so that he might latch onto a group as just another fleeing individual. Most organics don't even bother to approach him for help. The ones that do so get an earful of static, with a few notes of feedback thrown in, though he does point in the vague direction of the camp he'll be heading to. On the chance he meets any of them again, he can't risk being pointed out as having deliberately led them astray, much as he'd like to lead them all to the nearest squad of bastions.

 

***

 

He startles when another omnic taps him on the shoulder. She looks like a bare-bones service model, but her cranium is scratched badly, with one of her four array points cracked and flickering, and her dress is nearly torn in half. Her synth crackles like there's a faulty connection somewhere.

 

"Sorry! My name is Robin. Please, I need your help!"

 

He responds in binary, //I'm not sure if I'll be as helpful as you think. What is it?//

 

"My family is pinned under the road! I need help shifting the rubble to get them out! Please, I don't think any of the pieces are too heavy, but I don't have any upgrades for that sort of work!"

 

She points to the middle of the road a short distance away. He can just see the edge of a manhole cover under a pile of debris. He chirps an affirmative and Robin darts back to that pile, mostly concrete chunks. She's clearly trying to shift some of the smaller pieces out of the way, but it's minimal progress, and the sharp tones she releases say she knows it.

 

He checks his load capacity - surprisingly high, 90kg - before pulling at a piece that seems to be holding the pile in place. Possibly a car door at one point. It grinds, drags, catches on everything it can, but he feels it giving by inches. Robin rushes to clear what she can around it, keening. Her vents pop open, releasing clouds of steam as she keeps trying to exceed her own load capacity.

 

After long minutes, he has the thing - definitely a car door - pulled far enough he barks at her to back up. He keeps the binary rough, mimicking the crackle he hears in her voice.

 

He relaxes his pull on the door for a moment, ignoring the confused trills beside him. Let the pile settle just a little...

 

Robin jumps away from him as he gives a vicious last pull, the car door screaming as it buckles and tears, but the door comes loose all the same. The door grazes his face, scrapes along one arm and part of his torso.

 

Well, now he looks appropriately worn, at least.

 

He's already been forgotten as she digs through the last foot of rubble to pull her family - they're organics. _Of course_ they are. She's probably a nanny for the single wailing child being handed up by the adult male. Robin immediately begins cooing at the child - it's too filthy for him to figure out its gender - and wiping its face with the torn edges of her own clothes, trying to remove dirt and wipe away the streaming tears. The father holds them both for some reason, checking how damaged Robin is, crying almost as much as the child.

 

He makes himself scarce, looking for stragglers he can follow instead. Robin's soft sounds at the child follow him far beyond his auditory range. Perhaps a glitch from the impact with the door.

 

A code scrubbing of his auricular receptors does nothing. The sounds linger for… longer than he would care to admit.

 

***

 

He trails after the survivors, following them to the so-called haven of the camps twenty minutes outside the base. A static filled laugh leaves him as he sees the mass of bodies, omnic and organic, settled outside the gate. All here for the same reasons, and still he sees pockets of useless resentment scattered everywhere. The pitiful beings sleep on the ground in hopes of getting a scrap of fabric to cushion them later. But this is where he must begin.

 

He sneaks and slips ahead by inches at a time, the lack of order giving him much needed leeway. All the same, it takes him days to get close to the gates. Ahead of him, the great mass splits, omnics to one side, organics to the other; the omnic portion moves much slower. Close enough to see the pulse rifles in the guards' hands, and it still takes him an afternoon and more to finally begin the entry process.

 

When it's his turn, he pretends his synth is damaged so he doesn't have to speak directly to the organics; other omnics translate for him. According to the organics' records, he is a medical unit whose hospital was destroyed in the recent omnium attacks. Unit MD-8178.

 

He's insulted to learn that, despite the invasively thorough vetting he just completed after days spent approaching the fortified fences, he is under a probationary period that must be completed before he can be sent to the base. 'A safety precaution,' the organic drone tells him. There might be something in the tone, but he doesn't care enough to think on it. Any dissatisfaction will have to be kept to himself if he wants this to go smoothly. Keep his head down, bide his time.

 

A soldier leads him and a dozen other omnics to their 'quarters.' It's a glorified shack, one hole roughly cut out to act as a window, and not even a cover for the doorway. The floor is completely bare. The only light any of them will be seeing by will be from their own facial arrays. He can already tell they'll be sleeping in shifts so each omnic might have _some_ comfort while recharging. He forces his hands not to curl into fists.

 

"The supplies are needed for the human refugees. Not like you omnics will miss any of it."

 

It’s good that he can’t produce saliva, or he might’ve spit at the soldier’s feet.

 

He waits until the soldier is gone to begin his wandering. The conditions of the rest of the omnic encampment are no better - any door coverings are ragged pieces of clothing tied together and hung from holes in the metal sheeting.

 

The organics - humans; he will have to call them that if he is to interact with them - are right to fear omnics: able to crush their soft bodies once those annoying shells are removed. The fact that this fear has led to such disrespect is an outrage, but no matter.

 

The humans are right to fear omnics and what they can do. What he can and will do to humanity. He is Jörmungandr, and he will see humanity _fall_.


	2. Chapter 2

His first days after entering the omnic refugee camp, he spends mostly wandering, memorizing the layout, not that it's particularly difficult. It’s a basic grid of corrugated metal shacks, every single one stuffed to capacity with omnics in various states of wear and damage. A few of them have become de facto machinists, using the parts of omnics who didn't make it to repair the still active.

 

Fights break out over universal parts, often ending with the parts themselves damaged. A waste, but he expects it, with  _ all  _ supplies going to the other side of the fence, even mechanical parts that are more needed here.

 

Omnics in good repair find other ways to occupy their time. He sits by and watches two older models play a game called 'chess' with broken plugs, joints, and bolts, all tied with bits of thread. The board is a checkered skirt. As much as it galls him to admit, even to himself, he doesn't get what's happening.

 

***

 

He doesn’t go unacknowledged for long.

 

One of the players, two-point vertical array in a…  _ brilliantly  _ orange shirt, titters, “Broom, looks like we’ve got a captive audience!”   
  


The other, five-points in a trapezoid and wearing plaid shorts, responds, equally amused, “Captive or confused, though? You a new model? Don’t recognize your plating.”

 

MD-8178 shrugs. //Relatively new, I suppose. What are you doing?//

 

“Confused then. Well, my dear friend Ozzie and I are playing chess. Take it you’re not familiar with the game?”

 

//I’ve never heard of it before.//

 

“Wanna learn?”

 

He keeps quiet. They - Ozzie and Broom, strange names - chuckle and start a new game anyway, with much more commentary than before, clearly for his benefit, not that he’s excited to hear it. In retrospect, he probably should have simply said ‘no.’

 

“These little pieces at the front are called pawns; their first movement can be two squares, but after that it’s one per turn - only forward - and they ‘attack’ other pieces that’re directly forward-diagonal of ‘em. Your synth sounds busted, you looked into seeing a Shack Hack?”

 

This will be thrilling, he can already tell. Why would only the first move be allowed two? If they can only move forward, then two opposing pawns could easily get stuck in the middle of the board! He plants his chin in his hand and gets as comfortable as he can on the packed dirt. //It hasn’t been a concern of mine, no.//

 

“You should, it might get you out of here faster. Ozzie’s stuck here because one of her feet has a bad click in it and the Hacks can’t get the part past the guards. Now, the back row has a whole different set of rules from the pawns; for starters, the back row can move backwards and sideways along with going forward. The rooks are probably the simplest though.”

 

He hadn’t considered that. //If…  _ Ozzie  _ is still here because of her foot, why are you?//

 

“Broom’s still here ‘cause there’s only so many cleanin’ omnics needed on base. Soon as a space opens up, though, they’re movin’ on out of here and up in the world!” Ozzie gives her partner a hard poke in the shoulder joint, her two points flashing, clearly happy for them despite the fact it would mean leaving her behind.

 

//This doesn’t bother you? Being forced to stay behind?//

 

“Nah, we already talked about it. They’re goin’ t’ send me down the parts I need for my foot, then I’ll be countin’ down the days ‘til I can get a seat in the communications department!”

 

He tilts his head. What’s this? //The communications department? On base?//

 

Ozzie continues, oblivious, “Well, sorta. It’s in the hospital. Broom here mentioned the rooks’re easy, ‘n they are. They move along the lines and can cross the whole board if it’s clear, but they can’t jump other pieces, so ‘clear across the board’ doesn’t happen often, but you can take out any piece you want in a straight line. Reminds me, where’d you be goin’ after here?”

 

… Perhaps meeting these two wasn’t such a bad thing, after all. //The hospital, actually, as a medical aide.//

 

“Well look at that! You really should get your synth fixed, then; they’re always lookin’ for more medbots. Maybe after I get squared away I can come find you!”

 

And now he needs to go see a Shack Hack, if only to keep the cover intact. He only hopes he doesn’t get broken while he waits. But for now… Staying a little longer to chat won’t hurt him. //Perhaps... What about the pieces next to the rooks?//

 

Broom takes over, badly concealed glee in their voice, “They’re the knights, and they’ve got the most confusing movements of the pieces. They’re two of the only pieces that can jump other pieces to get at another. See, they move in an L-shape, two squares forward, or backward, and one to the side, left or right...”

 

And so they continue, piece by piece, playing through two games themselves before MD agrees to take a turn, after much cajoling and laughing promises to ‘go easy on the newbie.’ He plays several games without realizing, and while his losses outnumber his wins by the time they finish, he finds himself enjoying the game and, just a little bit, the company.

 

***

 

A month goes by. He cultivates a fondness for chess, once he figures out the rules of the game, though he refuses to try ‘speed chess.’ It’s bad enough going at his own pace.

 

He made his visit to a Shack Hack two weeks ago and did a quick hack of his own to insert the memory file of a synth repair. It wasn’t difficult.

 

Right now, though, he wishes he’d had the Hack install some sort of hair so he could pull it out.

 

“What do you mean my transfer will take  _ another  _ two weeks to go through?”

 

“I’m really sorry, but there was a paperwork mishap that has to be rectified before your transfer can be approved. You’ll be called up as soon as it’s fixed.”

 

He stalks away before he starts shouting in binary with some of the new words he’s learned in the camp. Broom and Ozzie are a wealth of information: some of it useful, the rest meaningless but entertaining.

 

He needs to sit down and cool off before he puts a new hole in one of the nearby shacks. He plants himself in front of the first stretch of ten open feet he can find, so he can have some  _ space  _ in this glorified open sardine can, not realizing exactly where he is. After a bit, sounds filter in and he looks up to his right.

 

He’s within feet of the fence that divides the human encampment from the omnic.

 

He normally avoids this stretch of fence for the obvious reason there are  _ humans  _ on the other side. And, well…

 

He can’t stand to watch the omnics that wait and watch at the fence line for ‘their’ humans. There are so many of them that look into the human camp for one or two individuals. When he can force himself to watch  _ them _ , he wouldn’t even say that 10% of them find who they were looking for. It makes a strange feeling crawl through his circuits. After dark, when he’s waiting for his sleep shift, he keeps superimposing Robin on all of them. That auditory glitch must’ve spread somehow. He can ignore it well enough.

 

***

 

The two weeks go by, then a week beyond that, and Ozzie finds MD seated against and thumping the back of his head against the corrugated metal of his shack. He gave up his trousers a few days ago so one of his roommates could start making a curtain for the door. Bot could use a good buffing, that nice white finish of his is looking worse for wear.

 

“Another delay?” Typical, really. Ozzie’ll swear on whatever book the humans put in front of her, something always seems to go wrong with an omnic’s transfer, usually just long enough for another human to fill the post.

 

“The next - transport - is running - behind - because - the pilots - got -  _ food poisoning _ \- and they’re - scrambling - to find - replacements - qualified - to fly - an ORCA.” It’s oddly rhythmic, words interspersed by thumps. She waits three more beats to make sure he’s not going to fly into a rant.

 

“You’re goin’ t’ dent your head, you keep goin’ like that.” No response. “Cheer up, at least you know you’ll be on it this time!”

 

“If you’ve just jinxed me, I’m stealing your good foot and hiding it.”

 

Ozzie laughs, but all the same, she goes looking for a piece of wood to knock. Her young friend is clearly ready to pull wires.

 

A few rounds of very aggressive chess have most of his frustration vented, though he still eyeballs a spare sheet of metal like he wants to put a few dents in it. Being forced to wait, he finds out, is one of the greatest tortures for someone who has so much to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr!](http://missixo.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

The transport is held up another  _ four  _ days. Four days. Because two idiot humans ate the wrong plates of fish. Jörmungandr - MD, ugh, he’s going to have to get used to answering to that, since it’s all the humans want to call him now - wants to strangle a few fleshy necks on the flight. One of the pilots is ridiculously skittish of him on sight, something about a white omnic being an ‘ill omen.’ He fully agrees, which makes his circuits crawl just a little to think about, but sadly he can’t prove the human’s fears right, at the moment.

 

Well. He almost does anyway because he and the five other omnics are being put in the  _ cargo hold _ . Beg pardon? Does he  _ look  _ like a piece of equipment?! His indignation scares the one pilot off to the cockpit early, just to get away from him. Camp security starts paying a little attention to him, but he keeps quiet with no more outward signs that he’s ready to steal one of their guns and shoot all of them.

 

***

 

MD walks quietly into the cargo hold and sits away from the other omnics, but Jörmungandr looks around for something he can easily hack. Crate, crate, crate, crate… security equipment. And it even has an open port, how nice of them. He scans the port and feels his spinal connector change to match, and he sits on the crate next to it for the flight, leaning against it to hide his connector. There’s the smallest click as he connects, the sound swallowed by the engines powering up.

 

Now, does he make the equipment completely useless and cost the humans time and money getting a replacement, or does he give himself a door to access the live feed when it goes active? Decisions, decisions… 

 

He’s going for the live feed when one of the other omnics approaches - skittish little thing with three points, he can practically hear their plates clicking together.

 

“You look upset.”

 

Does he? “My processors haven’t been quite the same since the last attack. And I wasn’t treated as ‘cargo’ before.”

 

“Oh! Really? -- Oh shoot, right, I’m Macky, MKE-3784 - Mikey was already taken. You?” They sit down on another crate next to him.

 

“MD-8178, no name to speak of.” He can feel the processing speed of his hack dropping, but he’s still confident he’ll finish before they land.

 

“Oh, well that’s odd. I would’ve thought an omnic like you would definitely have a name! You’re so--” Macky waves their hands in some incomprehensible gesture.

 

“Yes…?” He pushes a few more processors back into the hack.

 

“Pretty! You’re very pretty.” The other fidgets as they waits for a response.

 

… What? “What?” Yes, he was made to have an overall pleasant appearance, but… what?

 

Macky takes the opening to chatter away, and Jörmungandr takes the opening to push the hack even harder. It only takes half the flight - ten minutes, embarrassingly easy on so-called  _ security  _ equipment - and Macky doesn’t pause except to stutter, which is impressive on its own. If they were organic, Jörmungandr imagines they’d be entirely pink by now.

 

He disconnects from the equipment quietly enough and settles in, letting the flattering - if strange, honestly, how long has this omnic been watching him? - white noise wash over him for the remainder of the trip.

 

***

 

When the transport touches down on base, they’re immediately offloaded onto trucks heading for their destinations. To his joy, the security equipment is coming with him and Macky isn’t. Small mercies. The other omnics are all slated for the commissary and base exchange. Macky waves from the truck, Jörmungandr pretends to miss it.

 

The ride to the hospital is uneventful, his first day only marginally more so. He gets a tour of the facility with a dozen new human staffers, and as a bonus, the groups stops are long enough for him to scan nearly every new port design he sees.

 

Occasionally, they’ll pass a room where someone - usually a male, he notices - is loudly disputing the necessity of an exam, and it seems like every other hallway is populated with at least one walking mountain.

 

One of the new humans asks for the group after they pass the fifth monolith on legs, their voice vibrating and full of excitement, “Are those the Crusaders?!”

 

Their guide laughs, “Yes they are! This base is the staging area for most of their strikes, and as such has the largest contingent in Europe. You’re very likely going to meet several of our local heroes throughout your time here…”

 

MD tunes them out after that, reeling just a little. These are the Crusaders?? They’re massive! He wasn’t aware humans could get so… so…  _ big _ . Most of them are the size of small bastions, for Maker’s sake. He keeps glancing at the ones they pass, moving his head as little as possible. He’s already considered tall by most standards, but these humans dwarf him altogether. He might be able to lift one or two of the smaller ones - 90kg qualifying as  _ small _ , Maker help him - but he’s really not sure, and feels no urge to test this.

 

He stays very close to the group after that, no desire to give the great brutes whatever excuse they’d need to crush his core. He can practically feel the impact of the hammer already, looking at those arms. No, he’s not planning on giving them any reason to even  _ look  _ at him.

 

At the end of the tour, the group he’s in is back in the hospital lobby, and the humans are being sent to their quarters somewhere else on base. MD gets shown to a room in another wing of the hospital where he’ll be staying, on site, with three other omnics. There are just as many frills here as at the camp, but at least there’s a door, and a bed for each omnic.

 

_ ‘Congratulations to me, I’m now living in the ‘civilised’ bare minimum.’ _

 

The mattress is pitifully thin, but after his last living arrangements, he supposes this is several steps up. Or, to be more specific, about 40cm. He sits down on what seems to be the only unclaimed bunk, going by the small baubles he’s just noticing: a string of multi-colored lights looped through the slats of the upper bunk across from him, various scarves wrapped around the bars at the head of another bunk, a pair of decorative pillows on the last, and a few small plants on the windowsill. All attempts at self comfort.

 

Small duffels are tucked into corners, likely filled with whatever clothes his new roommates have somehow acquired, and he wonders what is even the point of an omnic getting dressed. He thinks of Ozzie’s orange shirt, Robin’s dress… he was even reluctant to part with his trousers after a while, which still confuses the sparks out of him. It was two tubes of plain fabric sewn together. Clothes have no purpose for an omnic except to make humans more comfortable around them. So why do they bother with it?

 

He stretches out on his new bed and settles in to recharge; he starts ‘work’ tomorrow. He’ll think more on it another day.


	4. Chapter 4

MD comes online as soon as his recharge finishes, feeling remarkably better for having slept on something other than the bare ground for once. Not having to worry about dust getting into pistons or pebbles into joints is certainly a nice change of pace. It takes only a brief second to connect to the hospital’s infranet. According to the schedule, his first shift begins in three hours. Three hours to do with as he pleases... He refuses to simply sit on his thumbs, so with nothing better to do, he decides it’s best to see if his security unit is installed yet and if he can sneak in a scan of the system before he goes to work.

 

***

 

Two hours and fifty-nine minutes later, MD clocks in for his first shift, content in the knowledge that at least one shipment of medications - something about insulin, which he vaguely remembers is something humans are concerned over, and flu vaccines - is on its way to southern Italy, rather than northern Germany.

 

His next few days go smoothly enough, with spells of boredom being broken by ‘unexplainable’ alarms going off and - oh dear, another smoke detector ringing through the corridors downstairs. He tries to keep it sparing so they don’t connect anything to him, maybe one or two per day, but it keeps him entertained, and the humans confused and weary. While on breaks, he checks out different parts of the hospital via his security unit. Frustratingly, he can’t find a feed for the communications center on the fifth floor.

 

***

 

Then, oh  _ then _ , all hell breaks loose as that shipment he rerouted is first one, then two, then four hours late and still nowhere to be seen. At six, then eight, hours, the administration takes notice and action. The entire hospital staff is alerted that new protocols will be put in place effective immediately, and to watch pagers or HUDs for updates. The current insulin inventory is counted and recounted four times for accuracy, and then compared against the mainframe’s own count. Any vials of flu vaccine that might be useful are checked for expiry dates.

Gossip moves quickly and he hears that both numbers are lower than what is considered acceptable, though the exact counts aren’t widely known.

 

A notice pings in his HUD.

 

**ATTENTION PERSONNEL:**

**Due to sudden insulin and vaccine shortage, hospital staff are under new directives until such time as the missing shipment of insulin and Influenza-A H3N2 vaccine is located or replaced.**

 

**NEW DIRECTIVES INCLUDE, BUT ARE NOT LIMITED TO:**

**\-  Late clock-in exceeding ten (10) minutes per two (2) shifts will result in written reprimand. Three (3) reprimands will result in immediate relocation.**

**\-   Human and omnic shifts are now staggered.**

**\-   All omnic personnel are now On-Call until further notice.**

**\-   All omnic personnel are to passively monitor diabetic patients while on shift. Omnics not cleared to access patient records will assist as necessary. Direct transfer of patient files and status updates at shift change is to be done at a nursing station with at least one (1) human personnel present. No exceptions.**

**\-   Exempting emergency, omnic personnel are to focus on diabetic patients.**

**\-   Patient dietary restrictions will be enforced. No exceptions.**

**\-   Patients will be informed and updated of the situation as necessary by Hospital Administration only.**

 

**This is not a drill.**

 

… What the hell did he get himself into with this?

 

***

 

The answer turns out to be fairly straightforward: ‘a week of hell, never to be repeated if possible.’

 

Immediately after the notice goes out, all omnics are called to their floor’s nursing station and are assigned up to five patients each. MD gets five himself, but is assigned to partner with another omnic who is not fully cleared to access patient records. His own bedside manner has already been  _ noted _ , despite being at the hospital not even a week; as such, he’ll be doing the monitoring, and his partner will actually be interacting with the patients, which is just as well with him. Humans are so  _ whiny  _ when they’re ill, he marvels at how more nurses don’t become angels of death.

 

_ ‘I certainly wouldn’t blame them.’ _

 

***

 

Day one is annoying, but nothing exceptional happens beyond his partner having to explain the updated diet restrictions placed on patients with diabetes. Three of them take the news easily, one grumbles but complies, and the last one throws a fit that requires a small dose of tranquilizer to quiet her back down.

 

Day two is quickly exhausting as the constant flow of patient data drains his power cells faster than he expects, and he falls into his bunk at the end of his shift, immediately going into a charging cycle. He hasn’t properly met any of his new roommates yet, only seen one or another laid out in bed and recharging for their next shift.

 

Day three is even worse, with his charge cycle being cut half an hour short so he doesn’t risk a reprimand for clocking in late. He feels it the whole rest of the day: he’s sluggish, his responses are slow, even downloading and updating takes longer. Is this how humans feel when they don’t get enough sleep? He hates it. He can’t even tell them where to find their damn shipment because it would only raise questions he can’t answer. Maker let them find it quickly so this can end already.

 

Day four, they find the shipment in Italy, untouched, almost at the end of his double shift. It’ll take the rest of the day and most of tomorrow to get it to the hospital and properly checked before any of it can be added to the existing inventory. He finds himself legitimately hoping as much as the human staff that nothing’s gone off, sitting there mostly unattended for four days.

 

Day five, he… he really doesn’t remember much of it, if he’s being quite honest. He’s relying on a portable power pack to keep him at functional levels throughout the day, kept out of sight under a set of disposable scrubs. They’re new additions, but he’s hardly more noticeable for it. All the omnics are in a similar situation as him, some of the older ones worse off due to battery degradation, hiding power packs under scrubs as early as two days ago. Relief staff are coming in from the nearest base to cover the next two days while the regular staff recover from the exhaustion and stress of the past week. He finally ‘meets’ his three roommates after the relief staff take over, quiet nods of acknowledgment passing between them. The four of them disconnect their power packs and drop them in the middle of the floor with their scrubs, thin curtains on the window pulled wide open so they can catch a little solar power as the afternoon continues on and they crawl into their bunks.

  
He wakes up on day six only long enough to check his notifications and see that the entire regular staff has been given forty-eight hours leave, with many thanks from hospital and base administration for their hard work and dedication, and that payroll will reflect this commitment to service the coming week, blah blah blah, nothing he cares about except the days off and the hefty paycheck. He acknowledges the notice and powers back down. He knows exactly what he’s doing for his first day off, and it begins and ends with  _ absolutely nothing _ . The base, and the world, can burn and melt to slag for all he cares right now. He decides he’ll stick to annoying and distracting alarms from now on. Constant equipment calibrations and replacements will have to satisfy him until he can get to the communications center because he refuses to risk a repeat of this if it can be at all avoided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://missixo.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Chapter 5

_ MD, could you grab me a coffee? I'm stuck here waiting on these results for the next two hours _ .

_ MD, the guy in 439 needs his bedpan cleaned, could you let the janitor crew know? _

_ MD, I need these X-rays run up to the third floor. _

 

_ MD, MD, MD, MD... _

 

Two months he’s been at this hospital, and if he gets any sicker of that designation, he's going to spontaneously develop a viral corruption in his coding. MD-8178 was transferred to the base hospital to be a medical aide, not a damn gofer. Honestly, one patient complains about him being a little tough and now look where he is, running up and down stairs all day with deliveries and messages. His resentment toward humans only increases as he sees his human counterparts getting away with similar infractions and more.

 

He might've seen it as a benefit, since it means his schedule is erratic enough that if ten minutes are unaccounted for while he scouts out where he needs to go, no one will think otherwise. However, that would only be a boon if he could actually scrounge together ten minutes to make it to the damn communications center on the fifth floor and send out his signal.

 

Back in the camp, he'd wondered how much more unorganized these apes could get. He should never have had the thought.

 

Naturally, this is when he gets his first introduction to the mighty Crusaders of Germany, the - in many ways - massive thorns in the sides of European omniums.

 

Equally naturally, he gets this introduction by being clothes-lined across the face with a bronze gauntlet-covered backhand - without any of the ‘fun’ attachments, at least - and sent to the floor on his back, with data pads and manila envelopes of X-rays going everywhere.

 

He lies there, stunned, for a few seconds while there's a barrage of German being flung about over his prone form. Once he's recovered, he scrambles to gather back up his things. Maker, he hopes none of the pads are damaged. He can't afford another reprimand. The hospital is more protective of its tech than its patients, and if annoying a patient already got him  _ here _ , he doesn’t want to know what the other possibilities are.

 

A hand reaches for his shoulder. MD darts out of its way and makes a beeline for the stairwell door; he can recover time jumping between the hand rails.

 

"Hey! Hey, wait a minute!"

 

***

 

By  _ God  _ the little omnic moves fast!

 

“Colonel von Adler! Your examination isn’t complete. Please get back in the room and let the doctor--”

 

“Who was that?”

 

“Who?”

 

“The omnic I just sent sprawling! Who was it?”

 

“Hm? Oh, MD-8178?”

 

Colonel Balderich von Adler blinks. He… didn’t expect her to actually know off the top of her head. But then, the omnic was quite the stand out. Years living alongside and then fighting against omnics, and he’s never seen one that was  _ white _ . He watches the stairwell for a few seconds before his adorable lieutenant, Reinhardt, muscles him back into the exam room.

 

The exam goes quickly, a few stitches from their last push finally getting removed. They were starting to itch. Only fifty left to wait on. Thrilling.

 

***

 

Hours later, dinner with his men is, as ever, a noisy affair. Between the usual moaning and groaning about medical exams, and challenges flying back and forth across the room, he doesn’t waste too much time trying to think - he’s barely able to hear himself - except to lament and poke at his  _ salt-free _ , protein-enriched gruel . The latest ‘dietary adjustment’ his doctor is forcing on him.

 

_ ‘“We need to get your blood pressure down, sir, it shouldn’t be so high.” No shit it shouldn’t, but how about you go swing a hammer at tank-sized robots shooting at you and keep your blood pressure down?’ _

 

It’s not going to get any better just sitting there getting cold on his plate, so he scarfs it down and tries to not make a face while also trying to avoid tasting anything - he’s only mostly successful - then heads to his quarters.

 

He settles onto his thin mattress after changing into sweatpants and looks over his armor for anything that needs immediate attention after the last set of sparring matches. He’s stumped when he gets to his gauntlets. When the hell did he get a scuff on it? And why is the scuff so pale?

 

Balderich puzzles over it while he polishes and buffs the mark out, only remembering when he’s almost done, and with a groan. The white omnic he backhanded in the hospital. He sincerely hopes he doesn’t see that omnic again for a while. Omnics aren’t  _ known  _ for holding grudges, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen a few by now,  _ particularly  _ in the healthcare sector. He gets poked often and hard enough as it is; an omnic pretending it hasn’t calibrated properly and using just a hair more force than necessary is not something he wants to feel.

 

He checks his calendar. Henri has her next physical in two days, Dietrich and three others have physical therapy the day after, new recruits - potential squires - come in four days later… and he gets his next set of six entire stitches out the next week. Wonderful. Hopefully he can keep from popping them.

 

***

 

He pops a different, fresher set getting Henri to her physical, the stubborn frog. She at least goes quietly after that, shamefaced.

 

The nurses try to pin him to the bed so they can redo the stitches, but he is tired of being a damn  _ pincushion _ !

 

“Let the blasted thing get infected or ‘scar badly’ at this point! I’ve had it!”

 

He’s mostly vertical, three orderlies uselessly hanging off him, when a very tight, very painful grip on his sideburn pulls his head down to make eye contact with the white omnic, who croaks at him.

 

“Sit.  _ Down _ . Colonel.”

 

They stare at each other in silence as Balderich very slowly sits back down on the cot. He tries not to notice that the center of its -  _ his _ , definitely a masculine voice - faceplate is distinctly whiter than the rest, like he had a spot-buff done recently. The omnic - MD-something - doesn’t relent his grip on his facial hair the entire time. He’ll bet his armor this is payback for the backhand because  _ this  _ is the grip of someone perfectly willing to pull out hairs.

 

The nurses work around the omnic, shooting him uneasy looks as he continues to hold him down. He clears his throat.

 

“You… My apologies for the corridor, a couple days ago. I was going to apologize then, but you ran off so fast.” It’s difficult to talk out one side of his mouth.

 

“Perhaps next time you will watch where you swing your arms. You would not have gotten off so lightly if I’d been a  _ human  _ worker.”

 

Is he imagining the distaste in that response? “No, I would not, and that is why I am apologizing now. Ah, what is your name again? I only got your model number.”

 

“I am MD-8178. Most of the staff simply call me ‘MD.’” Again with that note of distaste. And that wasn’t an answer to his question.

 

The doctor clears her throat before he can say anything else, looking pointedly at the hand still holding him. “Thank you, MD, you can let him go now and return to your station.”

 

He feels each finger uncurl from his jaw and watches the omnic - MD, really, it doesn’t fit - leave the room, hands clasped behind his back.

 

“I’m so sorry about that, Colonel; he doesn’t normally work with patients. Not the greatest bedside manner, as you can tell.” She tries to laugh it off, a false chuckle meant to lighten the mood. He doesn’t laugh with her. There’s an awkward quiet until she clears her throat again. “Well, you’re all sewn up until your next appointment. Would you like us to issue MD a reprimand? He really needs to work on how he interacts with patients.”

 

“What? No, no, he was simply doing what he needed.” Balderich can’t remember the last time someone wasn’t overly cautious around him or his men.

 

It’s… different. Intriguing, just a bit.


	6. Chapter 6

His men rag on him for the rest of the week about being held down by the beard, with emphasis on the fact it was an omnic doing the deed. It only cements his idea further that this needs to happen. The ragging itself is not an issue, but some of the jokes that were not far enough out of earshot were… well, some of his men need to readjust their thinking before this settles in too deep. All conflicts end at some point, and he wants to avoid wartime sentiments spreading beyond that point if he can help it.

 

***

 

Balderich doesn’t recognize any of the faces working in the pharmacy when he goes to refill his blood pressure prescription. “Where are Amelia and Jaime? Not sick, I hope?”

 

One of the technicians rushes to reassure him, bouncy little thing with an almost convincing customer service smile. “Oh, no sir! The regular pharm crew’s had a heck of a time this week, inspections and licenses and such, so we’re covering them for today. Whose name is the script under?”

 

“Von Adler, Balderich... Say, you wouldn’t happen to know where I can put in a request for a medic, do you?”

 

She shakes her head, customer service smile still in place, eyebrows perfectly angled to show sympathy. “Sorry, I’m new and not familiar with most of the hospital layout yet, but one of the receptionists in the lobby should be able to tell you. If you’ll give us just a second, Colonel, we’ll have your meds to you.”

 

The colonel steps aside to let the next person fill their script. He doesn’t have to wait long before he has the baggie and is heading toward the lobby. He only needs to ask the first receptionist he spots.

 

“Certainly, Colonel. If you’ll go down this hallway, it’s the third door on the right.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

***

 

Liam isn’t sure he’s hearing the colonel right. “Sir, are you sure you want this omnic as your division’s dedicated medic? He’s standoffish, abrasive, and he has a note in his file about excessive roughness with a patient. There are so many units much more suited to--”

 

“Yes, I am sure I want  _ this  _ omnic. Will that be a problem?” He doubts it, it would get the omnic out of the hospital’s hair.

 

“I… We… we’ll get back to you, sir, with the administration’s decision later today.”

 

Balderich stands to his full height before reaching clear across the desk to shake Liam’s hand. “Thank you for your help. I trust the administration will make the right decision.”

 

“Uh, um, y-yessir. Have a good day, sir.”

 

The colonel walks out, looking staid as ever but feeling like the cat that got the canary. He knows they’ll say yes. Too many people bend over backwards to keep him happy, but it does have its uses on occasion.

 

***

 

MD wakes up sometime in the early evening on his day off with a new notice flashing in his vision: transfer orders moving him halfway across the base, effective immediately. He now holds the proud title of medic to the Crusaders of Germany.

 

_ ‘Someone shoot me in the head, please.’ _

 

He must make a noise because his roommates are looking at him over their poker game.

 

“Everything good, M?” Zax, with six points in a pair of staggered columns and a preference for ‘Hawaiian’ shirts. None of his roommates call him MD; they know he hates it, but he still doesn’t have a ‘name.’ He doesn’t  _ want  _ one.

 

“Does he sound good to you, Zax? Sounds to me like he got some bad news.” Archie, five points in an inverted pentagon set oddly high on his head, wearing various shades of brown.

 

“How’s about we let him answer for himself, gents? Em, love, what’s happened?” Prism, three points in a tight triangle pointing off to her left, never seen in anything but floral patterns.

 

“Transfer orders. I’m the new medic for the Crusaders.”

 

All three of them pause. Logically, they all know the Crusaders are heroes of Europe, but there’s always that uneasy feeling, being around someone who destroys omnics as a career. They look at each other and set aside their cards to help him pack. MD’s not coming back here again.

 

Prism convinces him to put on his ‘off’ clothes, a blue pullover with a hood big enough to hide even  _ his  _ array if he wants, over black sweatpants. His flip flops complete the look.

 

Archie tosses him one of his oversized satchels - not quite a duffel - to carry his things in, not that that amounts to much: a reader pad, some tiny glass baubles he bought at the BX one trip, and a small rope of miscellaneous beads he’s collected since Hell Week: a mix of glass, enamel, wood, and metal charms. His two other outfits go in and there’s still room for more.

 

Zax carries down MD’s pair of succulents for him until he knows how big the case is he’s going to get as a ‘starter kit’ until he can requisition all the supplies he’ll need. As a last moment of hilarity, the starter kit fits in the satchel with the rest of his things with just a little room left, so he can take both of his plants with him.

 

Zax finishes walking him to the door. “Good luck.”

 

MD nods and starts walking. After a few minutes, he waves down a transport truck nice enough to give him a lift to the Crusaders’ barracks. The drive goes quickly, smooth over the fresh paved roads.

 

The truck drops him off with a wave from the driver, and he’s left standing outside the building he’s almost assuredly going to die in. An  _ omnic  _ as medic for the  _ Crusaders _ . Is this someone’s idea of a sick joke? Even he figured out humor has its limits after the insulin deal. He clutches his plants a little tighter to his chest.

 

He’s beginning to contemplate desertion and figuring out a Plan B to destroy humanity when the door is opened by a multicellular monolith he doesn’t recognize, wearing the standard shapeless camo trousers and a T-shirt he almost pities for the strain it’s under, with a head of surprisingly full blond hair and a small, neat beard.

 

“You are the new medic?” He doesn’t sound surprised. Even speaking quietly as he is, MD can tell this man’s voice could probably carry across to the hospital with enough effort behind it.

 

MD can only nod in response. This one looks calm, but then so does Jörmungandr, and he’s bent on obliterating human society.

 

“Good! I’m Lieutenant Reinhardt Wilhelm, pleased to meet you. Follow me and I’ll show you your new office.” A wide grin punctuates the statement as he ushers MD inside.

 

“Most of the crew is at dinner right now, but the colonel should be around soon to answer any questions you might have.” He has to double time it to keep up with the lieutenants gait. Wilhelm keeps up a steady commentary about the rooms they pass, but MD’s stuck on the realization he’s now going to be living in the same building as the man who A: accidentally backhanded him because he was upset about stitches getting removed or something, and B: he grabbed by the mutton chop and held still  _ with  _ that mutton chop for several minutes. Amazing basis for a relationship. Can his day get any better?

 

“Here we are! No one told me about your quarters, and the last medic left before I got here so--”

 

“These likely  _ are  _ my quarters, Lieutenant Wilhelm. Thank you, I can get myself settled in just fine. You may return to dinner without worry.” He doesn’t approach the door until Wilhelm moves away from it.

 

“I’ll let the colonel know you made it!” And he’s off with a jaunty wave.

 

MD surveys the amount of dust in the room and opens the two windows, sticky from long disuse. He sets his plants on the wide sills and his bag on the field cot tucked in an alcove, noting the cloud that puffs up from the light impact. After he takes a moment to marvel at the amazing neglect of this space, he rolls up his sleeves past his elbows and mourns for his sweatpants. First point of order on the docket: find something that he can even begin to clean the mess of dust bunnies and cobwebs with.


	7. Chapter 7

MD manages to scrounge up an old gauze pad to use as a dust rag until he can hit the BX for an _actual_ rag or five and some multi-surface cleaner when Colonel von Adler stops by after dinner to ‘welcome’ him or whatever it is hulking German men do as a greeting.

 

He can almost feel the man getting ready to say something, so he cuts him off without bothering to come out from under the desk. Let the man talk to his ass, it’s well enough formed. “As you can see, I’m currently downloading your mens’ medical files, but I won’t be able to get much done for them until I can do a full inventory and put in a request for supplies with the hospital. When was the last time this room was cleaned?” His impromptu dust rag is completely loaded with dust and the _desk_ isn’t even halfway done. If he were physically capable of the act, he’d likely shudder.

 

He’s going to need to call Broom to bring in a few of his crew to get this room clean to standards, he can already tell. MD carefully backs out from under his desk and tosses his dead rag in the pathetically small bin before looking up… up… _up_ at the colonel leaning against the corner of his desk. The man is dressed about the same as his lieutenant. He hadn’t considered that being on the floor would put him at this much of a size disadvantage. Sitting on his heels as he is, he doesn’t even come up to the man’s hip. _‘I really need to get used to this and get over it already, it’s not like he’s not going to shrink any time soon.’_

 

The colonel clears his throat; his ears and cheeks tinge a little ruddy. “It’s, ah, been a while since we had a dedicated medic around here, so the office was… a little neglected. Your quarters are clean though.”

 

 _‘“A little neglected,” he says.’_ An understatement if he’s ever heard one. Maker, even when they leave an area alone, humans somehow manage to still make a mess of things. A surprised chirp sneaks out of him as he registers what the colonel just said. “I have quarters? Who am I rooming with?”

 

“Rooming…? Uhm, no one. Your quarters are just down the corridor from mine, I’ll show you.” He pushes off the desk and turns for the door.

 

“I can’t.”

 

Balderich stops and turns back to him, confusion clear on his face. “Why not?”

 

MD points at his spinal cable, bright red snaking out from under his blue jacket, stark against the dull white of the room and plugged into the computer tower. “I’m still downloading. Best save it for tomorrow.”

 

He trills in amusement as Balderich flushes in embarrassment for forgetting so quickly. The man does not blush well at _all_ , dull red blotches spreading rapidly across his scarred head and down his neck, continuing under the collar of his shirt. He idly wonders if it goes any farther before twirling a finger in front of his own face. “Best be careful about that or I’m going to have to adjust your prescription, sir.”

 

Balderich nods and clears his throat, the color slow to fade. “Let me know when you’re ready to see your quarters. A note over intranet will be fine, if you can’t find me. Good night.”

 

MD nods back and waits for him to leave before he pauses the download so he can disconnect for a moment. The omnic stretches as he stands, walks to the door, and sets the magnetic lock with a quiet click. He settles back on the floor by his desk and reconnects to finish the download. He picks at some of the dust that’s already sticking to his clothes and wishes for a lint roller, plus a mop and bucket...

 

 _‘I’m going to need a chair, too.’_ A good squishy one, if he can afford it.

 

***

 

Several hours later, after the download is complete and the colonel takes his men out for morning training the next day, MD pings Broom to bring some of his crew to the Crusaders’ barracks, along with the heavy duty disinfectants. Maybe they can catch up for a minute while they’re at it.

 

***

 

Balderich isn’t sure he’s seeing what he’s seeing. When he went to bed last night, there was one omnic in the whole building. Now there’s a cleaning and maintenance crew going in and out via a pair of _windows_. Specifically, the medbay windows. The new medic is standing there in nothing but a pair of red shorts, chatting with who he assumes is the crew supervisor. The supervisor gives the group of large humans a little greeting wave.

 

He sighs. This isn’t quite the setting he’d hoped to have for introductions, but since everyone is already here. “Men, I would like to officially introduce you to your new medic: MD-8178.”

 

MD waves this time, shorter than his friend’s open gesture.

 

The men are quiet behind him, but he knows that will only last until they get to the mess hall. “Are you ready to see your quarters, then?”

 

MD checks - he guesses - with the supervisor in binary, who waves him off. The white omnic almost seems disappointed - by what is anyone’s guess - but follows Balderich inside with the rest of his men.

 

“I’ll meet you all in the mess, so don’t make one before I get there!” The colonel pulls the omnic aside with him to let the rest of them pass.

 

MD takes note of the ones that are curious at his presence, but especially the ones that look ready to take a hammer to his head. There aren’t many, but one stands out, and he is never letting himself be in a room alone with that one.

 

Balderich takes him down another hallway once the last of the men have passed. “As I said last night, your room is just down the corridor from mine; the only other people down this way are my lieutenants: Dietrich, Franco, and Reinhardt, whom you met last night.”

 

The omnic looks around, curious despite himself. This will be the first room he’s had since activating that would be solely his space. Any omnic on base would be interested in something like that.

 

The door slides open after Balderich scans his palm. “We’ll get the door coded to you soon, somehow. Maybe a facial scan, you have a very distinct face...”

 

MD doesn’t pay much attention to what he’s saying, sure the man is talking to himself at this point, and slips into the room, trying to keep any excitement to himself and the room is

 

too big.

 

There’s so much _space_ , it feels like a cavern to him. Logically he knows this room is no bigger than the others in the barracks, and certainly it must be smaller than the colonel’s own, but…

 

It’s so _empty_. He feels exposed in here.

 

“Is something wrong?” The man almost sounds concerned.

 

“What? No, it’s… it’s perfectly serviceable. It’s just… I’m not… I don’t know what to do with all this space.”

 

Balderich looks around the room, not sure what he means. It’s three by three meters, not counting the miniscule wash closet - hardly massive. “Well, it is your space now to do with as you wish.”

 

MD stands in the room for a while after the colonel leaves him alone, listening to the nothing around him. He retreats to the medbay - his _office_ , he has a separate office - to check if the equipment he put in requests for last night has been delivered yet.


	8. Chapter 8

MD catches up with Broom more after returning to his office, settling into his new chair that they stole out of a storage room. They shrug and wave off his concerns. “It was collecting dust, figured none of the doctors would miss it.”

 

He laughs and nudges over the examination stool, an invitation for his friend to sit down. “I fully appreciate your pragmatism in this, I promise. Have you been able to find the part for Ozzie’s foot yet? You must be able to afford it by now, even on an omnic supervisor’s pay.” The thoughts of the difference in omnic and human pay scales almost sour his mood, but he chooses not to focus on it - for the moment.  _ ‘Pay gaps won’t be an issue too much longer when I get my way.’ _

 

They take the seat with a small sigh from their vents, relaxing worn pistons and joints after two days on shift. “Still hunting. It’s a delicate part, and she’s an older model, so even the knock-offs are pricey. I’m looking at other options at this point; can’t get much more expensive than it is now.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Let me know if you need anything; I’m not going to be the greatest at holding on to cash at the moment thanks to the new space, but I’ve still got something in the bank.”

 

After Broom and his team are gone, MD spends the next two days getting settled in, putting his personal effects where he wants them, and in general rearranging the room as equipment is brought in by a different crew. Each piece shrinks the space further and further, until it’s down to something he feels he can easily manage. It becomes a little cramped if any three Crusaders try to come in at once, but the limitation only makes it more his space and less open to invasion.

 

***

 

Miracle of miracles, Balderich gets no complaints about the new medic for a whole three days after the... memorable introduction. Of course, the first complaint he hears isn’t  _ official  _ by any means, simple lunchtime conversation, but that doesn’t make him any less concerned when he hears Andrea further down the table, rubbing his arm where a small bruise is blooming around an injection site.

 

“It’s got all the charm you’d expect from an omnic. I don’t sit  _ perfectly  _ still, and the thing sees fit to hold me down like an unruly child!”

 

_ It _ .  _ Thing _ . A small slip, but massive for the implications. The words immediately reduce the omnic to lesser - something hardly worth anything, disposable and entirely replaceable without note. Balderich grits his teeth. He requested the omnic because he has a  _ personality _ ; it’s not the best one by a long shot - he’s so far prickly on a good day, and Balderich doubts they’ve seen a bad day yet.

 

“Andrea, a moment with me?” He makes a beckoning gesture.

 

“Yes sir.” The Italian is clearly confused, but follows him outside the mess hall. “Sir?”

 

Balderich speaks low, knowing this is not going to be well received, more so than censure usually is. “I know you are not particularly fond of omnics, but please.  _ He  _ is your medic, not a toaster, and not one of those rust buckets that try to shoot us. I know he is not the most pleasant individual, but that  _ does  _ speak to his individuality. He has an identity, and I am asking you to respect that. Are we clear?”

 

Andrea swallows, looking like he just sucked a lemon. “Yessir. May I be dismissed, sir? I would like to finish my lunch while it’s still warm.”

 

“Dismissed.” He follows Andrea after a minute, intent on finishing his own lunch even though his appetite is suddenly gone.

 

***

 

MD hits the BX for some rags and cleaner so he won’t have to constantly bother Broom and his crew for basic cleaning, but when he gets there he realizes he still needs a decent set of curtains for the windows and a privacy sheet for his cot… The space is rather plain at the moment… A new plant wouldn’t go amiss either.

 

He stops himself at the curtains and sheet, plus three small plants, and some cord to make a hanging planter. So much for money management there.

 

***

 

Jörmungandr checks his security feed for the fourth time in twenty-four hours the next day between patient check-ups. There  _ has _ to be a way he can get back inside without having to walk through the middle of the hospital. He’s just missing something… He wasn’t necessarily  _ close  _ to getting to the fifth floor yet, even when he was outright living at the hospital, but now it’s so much harder with the fact he has to get in the damn building in the first place.

 

He’s just starting to look for other points of ingress when MD’s next patient comes in to review his medical file and he has to back out of the feed again. Back to updating medications, taking blood samples, and scheduling booster shots. Code-rotting boredom is what this job is.

 

***

 

Two days after he tempts fate once again -  _ ‘I really need to stop doing that.’  _ \- MD is woken by an alert on his HUD and banging on the medbay door accompanied by shouting. He pulls up the notice before he reaches the door and freezes, standing in the middle of the room.

 

THE CRUSADERS’ BARRACKS NOW UNDER QUARANTINE DUE TO POTENTIAL H3N2 FLU OUTBREAK.

ALL CRUSADERS ARE TO REPORT TO MEDICAL UNIT MD-8178 FOR EVALUATION AND RISK ASSESSMENT.

 

QUARANTINE WILL REMAIN ACTIVE UNTIL MEDICAL UNIT MD-8178 DECLARES RISK OF INFECTION SPREADING: NEGLIGIBLE. 

 

… He  _ just  _ woke up. But he opens the door and tries to talk over them - difficult enough when they’re all calm - getting progressively louder, “If you would all get in a single file line, I will run the assessments as quickly as - I need you all to quiet - Just get in a line and -”

 

Ok. He’s not putting up with this, his day is starting great enough already. He ramps up the volume and gives them a lovely feedback shriek for a perfect five seconds. Next, a moment to let their ears stop ringing... “Get in a single file line and I’ll figure out which of you were dumb enough to get sick and bring this quarantine down on all of us. When your exam is complete, go wait in your quarters until I issue the results.  _ No one _ is to be wandering the corridors during this time. You get caught, you go on report, and you  _ will  _ get caught.”

 

***

 

As he takes temperatures and checks for other symptoms, he revisits Hell Week and wants to strangle the omnic of almost three months ago. He’s still catching the fallout, unbelievable. Most of the organic bastions keep quiet, and he does end up checking that no one has any ruptured eardrums. An airhorn might have been kinder, but convenience and hindsight and all that. One or two still give him nasty looks - particularly that Italian - but there are witnesses so he counts himself safe enough.

 

He saves Balderich for last. “Colonel, provided you are not one of the possibly-infected, I think I will bring the list to you in your quarters and have you inform the men about who will be under stricter quarantines.”

 

He looks at him oddly. “Any particular reason why?”

 

“Because I need them as cooperative as possible, and they will take the idea of being confined to quarters for several days much better if it isn’t coming from an… from me. Turn your head, I need to check your eardrums.”

 

Balderich watches the omnic out of the corner of his eye. “... You are scared of us.”

 

MD hums, a note of ‘duh’ tucked in the sound. “I am am omnic living surrounded by men whose careers boil down to destroying omnics. I understand one phrase for such a situation is ‘sleeping in the lions’ den.’ Your eardrums appear to be undamaged, send me a note if you notice any sudden changes in balance, or a ringing in your ears, and I’ll come check on you in quarters.” MD turns away to dispose of the cap on the otoscope when a hot, heavy hand wraps tight around his forearm.

 

An automatic response to unexpected restraint kicks in and curls his fists tight, otoscope creaking under the pressure. His head swings around, looking for the delicate bone at the temple as his target. Balderich is just sitting there, relaxed except for the hold on his arm. MD warily lowers his unrestrained hand and drops the now destroyed tool in the bin with a hollow clank of metal on plastic. “Colonel, what exactly are you playing at?”

 

“This is why I requested you for our medic.”

 

“What? Why?”  _ Requested  _ him? Because he’s willing to crush his skull under threat?

 

The insane human has the audacity to  _ shrug  _ at him. “You don’t respond like most of the omnics on base. You have personality. What you just did in response to my actions is very similar to what a human would do.”

 

_ ‘Well that’s just rude.’ _

 

“I requested you because I am worried my men are forgetting that - while they are, yes, protecting humanity - we are fighting for our  _ way of life _ , which includes omnics like you. Some of them have come to think that all omnics should be destroyed, for safety, but if we did that every time part of a group became a threat to the world, most of my men’s grandparents would never have been born, after the Wars over a century ago. We would be in eastern France or western Poland right now - maybe even southern Denmark - instead. I understand that you are scared, but please do not let it stifle you.”

 

They sit there for a few minutes, looking at each other, evaluating. MD slowly relaxes his other fist in Balderich’s grip as fans kick on and a few small vents pop open. Balderich is watching the light from the window play on pale metal when the omnic lets out a strange sound -  _ ‘Was that a squeak?’ _ \- as he finally responds, rushed, “Thank you, Colonel, but I need to get these results together. I’ll bring them by your quarters later.”

 

He’s very quickly ushered - pushed, really - out and the door shuts behind him, the tint on the inset window going totally opaque. He stares at the probably-locked door, stunned, as he mutters to himself, “What just happened there?”


	9. Chapter 9

_ ‘What just happened there?!’ _

 

MD collapses back into his chair and puts his head in his hands. His vents are still open but he still feels on the verge of overheating. What was he  _ thinking? _

 

He mutters to himself, quietly repeating aloud the thought that had him all but shoving the colonel out the door. “‘I think I see the appeal the nurses were talking about…’ Appeal?! What appeal is there? He’s a fucking human!”

 

His processors must be on the fritz again, like the Robin Glitch. How he felt while Balde -  _ the colonel  _ was talking… his processors were reacting like when he’s in his alcove, how he came to feel in those forsaken shacks back in the camp. He felt safe! With a human nearly pinning him in place, he felt  _ safe!  _ And then he  _ squeaked! _

 

He swears he can still feel the colonel’s hand on his arm. Maker, if he hadn’t just had a thermometer in the man’s mouth, he might’ve thought him feverish!

 

MD releases a quiet whine as he feels another set of vents pop open.

 

***

 

After he calms down from his mild existential crisis, he ends up calling the hospital to send three nursing aid omnics as temporary assistants before he takes the list to the colonel, with a note sent out simultaneously to the men to wait by their open doors for more information.

 

***

 

MD holds out a tablet with a list of all the Crusaders in the barracks. Balderich takes the list and reads over it with a sigh. The names aren’t in alphabetical order, which means they are in order of highest risk. To the other three residents of this hallway, “Franco, you’re on house arrest. Dietrich, Reinhardt, you two are fine.”

 

Franco groans and slumps back into his room while Dietrich and Reinhardt high five.

 

MD pipes in, “You will still need to be examined at least once a day in case symptoms develop later on, and you still may not leave the barracks until quarantine is lifted.” Now they groan.

 

Balderich chuckles. “You two go find something to do. Franco! Now you can catch up on all those movies you moan about missing!” Another groan answers, full of disgust and giving the impression he just said ‘fuck off’ without actually saying the words. He’ll be fine.

 

MD trails behind him to the rest of the men’s rooms and repeats what he told Dietrich and Reinhardt. “Whether you are or are not considered currently infected, everyone here will have to submit to daily examinations, should symptoms develop later on during quarantine.”

 

Balderich clears his throat and raises his voice to be heard down the length of the hallway. “If I call your name, you are confined to quarters for quarantine. Siobhan. Louis. Ferdinand. Andrea. Roderich. Henri. If you did not hear your name, you are free to roam the barracks, so long as you submit yourself to the examinations. For those of you confined, your meals will be brought to you. Understood?”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

“Dismissed.”

 

Balderich turns around, intent on discussing what happened in the medbay, but MD already slipped away. Sneaky little omnic.

 

***

 

MD spends the rest of the morning waiting on the nursing units, filling the time with his security feed and the occasional cat video. Did he remember to send along a note to just come to the medbay windows?

 

Seems he did because just around lunch there’s a quiet tapping at the glass. Three omnics wave and chirp greetings, one with four points in a horizontal line, another with one notably large point, and the third with four points in a rhombus.

 

MD opens the window and sticks his head out. “My assistants, I’m guessing?”

 

Rhombus responds first, “Yup! I’m Skimmer-12, single point over here is Jamiya, and that’s Pat. Oh, Broom says hi, and that Ozzie should be on base within the month.”

 

He nods to each of them in turn. “MD-8178. Come in then, we need to get things straight before I subject you to the men. They finally managed to find the part she needs?”

 

Pat laughs as the three nurses squeeze on the field cot. “Try just buying her a new foot! The part’s such a pain to find, so it was faster and cheaper. So the mighty Crusaders turn into children when sick? Can’t imagine.”

 

“It’s only day one, so they’re not too awful yet. You’ll each get access to five sets of medical records, since there are four of us, and there’s a room set aside for medics that you three can split if you don’t want to go in the public areas. A whole new foot? Really? Well, needs must; I only hope it’s the same finish as the rest of her. Can you imagine being gunmetal and walking around with a brushed-brass foot?”

 

The three on his cot crack up while he divvies up the files. Skimmer-12 trills in confusion when they look over their files. “Why do I have Colonel von Adler?”

 

“You have the most experience, I thought it prudent.” And he doesn’t want to risk a repeat of earlier if he can help it.

 

“Yes, but you are the unit medic. Shouldn’t you examine the unit commander?” Skimmer-12 hasn’t accessed the file yet beyond the name so he can’t use that as an excuse. Damn.

 

“I… suppose so, yes. Very well. Which one will you take in exchange?”

 

“Mmm… This one.” Franco, then.

 

“Very well. All exams are done for now, though I’d like to check them over again after dinner. Now, I’ll show you all where you’ll be sleeping, then you can spend the rest of the day as you please.”

 

He leads them to the room he still hasn’t used to sleep in and punches in the door code he skimmed from the security system. “My apologies, I forgot there’s only one bed. I can request an air mattress if that’s an issue?”   
  


Jamiya, “Nah, sir, we’re used to sleeping on top of each other. Bed looks big enough anyway. You’re sure it’s ok for us to be in here? Looks like officers quarters.”

 

“I’m sure. If anyone tries to give you grief, point them to myself or the colonel; his quarters are just down the hallway. Dietrich, Franco, and Reinhardt are all on this hallway as well.” The other omnics are all looking around the room now, figuring out what space belongs to whom while they’re here. MD retreats, again, to the medbay.


	10. Chapter 10

Balderich stretches out over his bed after a few sets of push ups, sit ups, and lunges. His body aches pleasantly as he settles in on top of the sheets, the chilly fabric a relief against his own hot skin. A nap sounds wonderful, but he knows it will only make falling asleep tonight more difficult, so he lies there and lets his mind wander. It doesn’t take long before it wanders to the forbidden treat he has stashed under the carefully maintained clutter in his small bedside table drawer. He reaches in blindly and easily snags a corner of plastic packaging; the crinkling sounds it makes on reveal have him glancing, paranoid and guilty, at his door.

 

_ ‘It’s not hurting anyone…’ _

 

The thicker plastic at the top goes between his teeth while he resettles, now lounging against the wall with his pillow as back support. He winces at how loud the tearing sound is, but it doesn’t stop him from popping two pieces of licorice into his mouth and savoring them. He hasn’t had any in  _ weeks _ , and he misses the indulgence.

 

He leisurely works through the packet, half of it gone when there’s a knock at his door. His first thought is MD coming early for the evening exam and it sends him into a small panic, heart suddenly pounding. Unable to think of anything else, he stuffs the half-empty bag under his mattress and snatches up the novel on top of his bedside table. He clears his throat.

 

“Enter.”

 

It’s only Reinhardt, and his heart slows marginally. “Something I can help you with, Reinhardt?”

 

The younger man wanders closer, used to invading his commander’s space after years together. “Yessir, some of the men and I were wondering if--”

 

He glances up after a beat, eyebrow rising in question at the sudden silence. “You were wondering if…?”

 

Reinhardt leans over him, that shit-eating grin that drives Balderich up a wall on a good day slowly spreading across his face. “Well, I  _ was  _ wondering if we could do a movie marathon while we’re all trapped indoors, but  _ now  _ I’m wondering how hard our medic will grab your beard if he finds out you’ve been snacking against orders.”

 

Balderich sputters out denials until Reinhardt simply points at the corner of his mouth. He wipes his thumb over the spot, and it comes away stained slightly dark from the color in the candies. His face heats at getting caught and - he’ll deny it to his dying breath - he gives his former squire a pathetic look. “It was a moment of weakness?”

 

Reinhardt snorts, at least attempting to be quiet so his commander won’t get skinned alive. “Movie marathon for my silence.”

 

“... Nothing pornographic, and if I find even one kernel of popcorn on the floor after, you’re cleaning the floors with a toothbrush.”

 

“Deal. Enjoy the contraband!” Reinhard leaves quickly after that, whistling as he goes. Time to figure out what movies they can all agree on (none, really, but majority counts).

 

***

 

MD checks on the other omnics after dinner. “Time for symptom checks.” They pause their game and follow him to the main set of quarters. Most of the men have no changes to report from the morning, except Louis and Siobhan are showing higher temperatures. Not surprising. Ferdinand gives him the most trouble for all of maybe two minutes.

 

“Would you sit still already? I can’t check your ears when you keep moving your head.”

 

Ferdinand looks at him sideways, “Will you grab me by the beard like you did to the colonel?”

 

MD takes a quick look at Ferdinand and the beard he’s still growing out. “Why would I? You have nothing worth grabbing, unlike him.”

 

The corporal looks dumbstruck and Henri’s exam across the hall takes a little longer for Pat, as the woman can’t stop laughing. It turns out Ferdinand is - or was - very proud of his beard growth. The man keeps quiet the rest of the exam.

 

In hindsight, he should’ve done the colonel first, leave himself the excuse to get out of there quick. He’s suspicious as soon as he walks in the room: Balderich is sitting far too casually.

 

As he pulls over the small chair, he tilts his head and looks over the man on the bed. “You’re hiding something.”

 

The colonel splutters around the thermometer unceremoniously stuck under his tongue. “Me? You hid in your med bay after our chat this morning! I think it is you that is doing the hiding.”

 

“Stop talking, I need an accurate temperature. And I did not  _ hide _ , I was working.”

 

“Yes, working through YouTube’s archive of cat videos.”

 

MD doesn’t deign to reply and starts looking around the room. It’s perhaps a little bigger than the rest, but… comfortable. Between the pictures on the wall and various small shelves full of odds and ends, it feels a little like his room back at the hospital.

 

He removes the thermometer after it goes off and records the reading. “Why do you have a stuffed animal?”

 

“Hm? Oh, that thing?” He points to the griffin plush on his dresser with the arm MD isn’t examining for muscle weakness. MD nods. “Ah, some of the idiots thought it’d be a good gag gift, a griffin for a griffin. Jokes on them, I like it. Any changes with them?”

 

“None so far, but we’ll keep checking. Look straight ahead.”

 

“Anyone give you issue?”

 

“Ferdinand tried to make a joke. Henri thought it was funny.” MD looks down to add a note to the data pad braced on his leg and pauses. “What’s this?”

 

“What’s what?” Confusion quickly turns to shock when MD reaches between his legs. “What the--!”

 

“Aha!” MD crows when he pulls his prize out from under Balderich’s mattress: a small bag of licorice. “I seem to recall that you have a dietary restriction concerning these, sir.”

 

“I get cravings sometimes, I don’t eat that much!” He reaches for the baggie.

 

MD stretches and leans away from his grasping hands, amused despite himself. “You’re not supposed to be eating  _ any _ . I knew you were hiding something!”   
  


“Come on, be nice to me! It’s a little snack, it breaks up all the gruel I have to choke down.” Balderich stands, trying to use his size to advantage.

 

“I didn’t grab your beard again, did I? And this ‘little snack’ is part of  _ why  _ you’re still on that gruel.” MD gets squirrely, not staying still and slowly making his way to the door.

 

“And here I thought you were starting to like me.” One last feint attempt, and MD has the door open.

 

“Whatever feelings I  _ may  _ hold toward you are irrelevant. You still shouldn’t be eating these!” MD backs out of the room with his spoils and quickly makes his way down the corridor, calling back a cheeky “Good night, Colonel!”

 

Damn. Well he still has his stash, dwindled as it is now. Then something the omnic said registers and the corner of his mouth twitches.

 

“Hm. Feelings, eh?”

 

***

 

MD is contemplating which of the men wouldn’t mind eating the licorice when he gets to his office. That train of thought is derailed, though, when he enters to find Pat sitting there, fidgeting. “Did something happen?”

 

“No, no, nothing happened. Oh, this is so dumb, Skimmer-12 and Jamiya convinced me to come down here, but it’s really not worth---”

 

“Did Andrea threaten you?”

 

Pat goes quiet with a sharp click for a few seconds. “No, but… he’s scary. Kept muttering about his hammer, and the way he looked at me… It felt like he was looking for targets.”

 

MD sits in his chair across from Pat. “And you want to get away from him.”

 

Pat nods, “But I know that just means one of you will get him, and that’s not fair!”

 

“I’ll take him. You can take von Adler in exchange; he’s sympathetic enough. Just threaten to grab his beard if he doesn’t stay still. And confiscate any licorice you find.”

 

“A-are you sure?”   
  
“Yes. I’ll transfer the file in a minute. You head back to your room.”

 

“Thank you, sir!” Pat scurries out of the medbay. Andrea is already starting to become a pain in the spinal cable, and he gets the feeling it’s only going to get worse from here if he doesn’t nip it in the bud. A little extra of his standard bedside manner should get the ball rolling.

 

***

 

Balderich is surprised to see one of the other omnics at his door the next morning, instead of MD.

 

“Did something happen?”

 

The omnic pauses, then chuckles. Did he say something funny? “Nothing of note, Colonel. I simply requested a patient exchange, and he gave me you.”

 

“Which one did he take?”

 

The omnic’s array does a rolling flash as they process a response. “I can’t tell you that, sir.” Andrea, then.

 

“I see. Well, let’s get this done then.” The new omnic nods and sits down to begin the exam.


	11. Chapter 11

It takes four days to get the rise he wants from the man. Andrea has surprising restraint when he wants to, it’s really almost admirable. Unfortunately, Jörmungandr’s determination is much more steady, and his own life can only become easier without this bastard in the picture.

 

“I told you to sit down!” He presses down on Andrea’s shoulder and doesn’t see the punch coming.

 

“Stop ordering me around, you fucking toaster!” It connects hard enough that Jörmungandr feels himself lift off the ground for a second before coming back down in the hallway. His cranium bounces off the door behind him hard enough to short his optic sensors and distort his auricular receptors. There’s a half second of silence before a dozen voices swarm around him, shouting in languages he can’t properly hear to translate. He tries to cover the receptors and block the feedback, but it only helps so much. Two pairs of slim metal hands help him up and walk him out of the corridor, toward the medbay. Something big passes them and a roar echoes behind as a third pair of hands help steady him.

 

Perfect. Painful, but perfect. A sensor finishes shorting out with a pop he feels in his core.

 

_ ‘Shit that hurt. I need a machinist.’ _

 

***

 

“What the fuck is going on here?!” An automatic response to the chaotic scene in front of him. He knows  _ exactly  _ what’s going on.

 

Andrea is pinned under Henri and Dietrich, there’s a dent in Siobhan’s door, and two of the nursing omnics just walked MD past him, clutching his  _ bloody  _ head.

 

Ferdinand is the first to recover, “Sir, he just lost it!”

 

Henri, still restraining Andrea, grunts out, “Andrea punched MD so hard he went flying into Siobhan’s door.”

 

Roderich takes over the narrative next. “Shouted something about a toaster. Next thing we hear is MD’s feedback shriek and a bang when he hit.”

 

“I told him to stop fucking ordering me around!”

 

Dietrich snarls, “You split your own knuckle on his face, you fucking idiot! You went way past talking!”

 

“Enough! All of you, get up!” There’s pushing and shoving from Andrea, Henri, and Dietrich, but he ignores it to take a deep breath before turning his attention to Andrea. “I gave you a warning  _ a week ago _ about this, and this is what you do? You punch our medic in the face for telling you what to do?!  _ This  _ was an appropriate response to you!” Balderich sweeps his arm out to indicate the scene.

 

“Andrea, you have been with me for years, long before the beginning of the Crisis, and I have given you every chance to prove yourself. That is my fault. I should have known this would happen when I requested MD as our medic.”

 

Andrea looks wary but edging toward relief while the rest of them wear expressions of disbelief.

 

“I need your preference for transfer post.”

 

“What?! You can’t just transfer me!”

 

“Like Hell, I can’t! I am your commanding officer, and you have just proven yourself a detriment to how my unit is run! I should be putting you up for court martial for assault!”

 

“Balderich, it’s a talking pile of bolts, how is that assault?”

 

“That’s Colonel von Adler to you, Corporal. And it is assault because you punched another member of this unit. I can’t risk the lives of everyone else because you can no longer tell ally from enemy. Now, your prefered transfer post.”

 

“I’m not transfering!”

 

“Then I’ll have you discharged.”

 

Andrea opens his mouth again to argue, but Balderich beats him to it, pointing in the direction of the training barracks. “There are forty men and women training on this base, praying for the chance to take any of your beds from you! None of you are irreplaceable! You have been with me a long time, Andrea, which is the  _ only  _ reason I’m even giving you the  _ option  _ of transferring. You give me your preference by dinner tonight, or I contact the base JAG. Until then, you are still confined to quarters. I’ll get MD to call another nurse to stitch you up after the machinist is done repairing whatever damage you did. The rest of you are dismissed to whatever you were doing before. Quarantine is still active.”

 

***

 

He checks on the nursing aids, finds them huddled in the medic quarters. In hindsight, he’s almost glad it was MD that took the hit. None of these three look like they could’ve taken the hit without permanent damage to plating and who knows what else.

 

Skimmer-12 rattles, like they’re clearing their throat, “MD is in the medbay while the machinist gets here. His synth got knocked out of alignment, and trying to talk to him is going to be extra useless with his auries like they are right now anyway.”

 

“Do you… need anything?” Do omnics go into shock?

 

“No, thank you, sir. We’ll be alright.”

 

“Skip tonight’s after-dinner exam.”

 

“Yessir. Thank you. The machinist should be by soon. We told them to use the window; I hope that’s not a problem.”

 

Balderich can’t help it and laughs under his breath. Of course they did. He should probably go wait for the specialist himself. Avoid excessive confusion.

 

***

 

Twenty minutes later, he’s helping a very confused machinist in through the medbay window. “Apologies, I’m afraid our medic got the other omnics into a habit very quickly.”

 

“So I noticed. This him?”

 

“Yes. There was an… altercation, and he caught the brunt of it. I hope there is not too much damage?”

 

“Only one way to see. There a chair I can use? Been up and about all day.”

 

The machinist is there for four hours reconnecting and recalibrating damaged systems and sensors. MD’s synth ended up being the most damaged part, and after replacing a few bits and pieces, the closest the machinist can get to his original voice has a distinctly south Asian accent, which confuses all three of them.

 

“It will do, I suppose. I’ll simply have to get used to hearing my own voice.” The things he goes through for progress.

 

“Well, that’s me done for now, then. See you gents later, though hopefully not too soon. Is it alright if I go back out the window? It’s surprisingly convenient.”

 

Balderich laughs. “Yes, thank you, Specialist Shubaltz. And yes, you can go out the window. I’m starting to wonder why we have a door anymore!”

 

MD sighs after the machinist leaves and the window is shut. “So, what will happen with Andrea?”

 

“If he gives me an answer by tonight, a transfer off this base and out of my beard. If he doesn’t, I’m obligated to report the assault, which will likely lead to court martial and discharge without honors.”

 

MD startles at that. He’d thought the man would get a warning for first offense, possibly probation.

 

They look at each other, both reminded of the last time they were in here together. MD sighs and reaches into a desk drawer, pulls out an unopened baggie of licorice Pat confiscated the other day and holds it out to Balderich. “Find a better hiding spot than that drawer or your mattress, and don’t let me catch you eating these again. If you truly must, limit it to one pack every two to three weeks. I really don’t understand you humans and your ‘cravings.’”

 

Balderich takes the baggie and grumbles at himself before dropping it in the bin. “I think I want off these medications more than I want a snack.” Now he just needs to keep reminding himself of that.

 

MD shakes his head. “You humans are so strange sometimes.”


	12. Chapter 12

Over the next few months, every Crusader on base is deployed to some part of Europe or other to assist in a push back against omnic incursions. Jörmungandr isn’t overly worried, he’s heard them talking about how they’re still nowhere near destroying an omnium.

 

Halfway through the first month, Ozzie does indeed make it on base, thankfully with a matching foot, and into the communications center. Well, all of his regular patients are going to be in and out for at least a few weeks, now is as good a time as any to catch up. It doesn’t take much to convince her to let him on the fifth floor with her so they can continue talking while she’s on shift.

 

“Just don’t tell anyone I did this, ok? Your voice is different than what I remember.”

 

“My synth is locked. And I got punched in the head about a month ago, quite the story...”

 

The communications center is mostly staffed by omnics with one or two human supervisors, and he learns it’s kept on a completely separate network from the rest of the base. Explains his inability to remote hack it.

 

“Everyone has some access to it, but it’s all level one, or level two, which is the bigwigs.”

 

The ‘work stations’ are microscopic desks with stools all huddled in an empty area by the door, each with a port that allows direct access to the digital entry into the system. Jörmungandr quietly ports into the station next to Ozzie’s and starts scanning the firewalls he needs to get through. It’s a nightmare. The best he can do for now is leave a scrap of code that can slowly drill a small hole for him to use later. It’s going to take  _ months _ . He wants to throw something out a window. Preferably whoever designed this, possibly after shaking their hand.

 

After Ozzie shoos him out citing a supervisor coming on shift, he heads for the service stairs and, for old time’s sake, sets off at least one fire alarm per floor. Petty, but it feels so good to inconvenience these humans a little bit after the news he got today.

 

***

 

A week later, MD is just back from bullying Ferdinand into going to his physical therapy appointment - the happy idiot can come back unscathed from a battle with bastions and OR-13s, but manages to pull a muscle in his hand opening a  _ pickle jar _ of all things - when Balderich, Reinhardt, and Henri get back from their latest deployment almost three days late.

 

“... Lieutenant, would you like a razor for that thing on your face?”

 

He doesn’t know what’s so funny but Balderich and Henri break down laughing while Reinhardt looks wounded by his question.

 

“I’m trying to grow it out!”

 

***

 

Jörmungandr spends the months of back-to-back deployments taking shifts at the base hospital again, clipping loops of security footage - empty stairwells and hallways - and chatting with Ozzie and Broom when their breaks line up. He trades meaningless gossip back and forth, carefully nudging Ozzie for information on how the communications system works, porting in to a station each time they meet up in there and nudging his drill code that hundredth of a percent ahead of schedule.

 

During the occasional week that the colonel is on base, he focuses on this new bond the man seems to have formed for him. The flirting is strange, but he feels like he's improving as he goes.

 

***

 

Balderich levers himself slowly out of his bed, groaning the whole way. He's on two weeks mandatory rest after pulling something in his leg, and he has check-ups that need doing. Three months of these in-and-out deployments are taking a toll on him and his men, and he can only see more of the same when he thinks of the weeks and months to come. He rubs at a sore muscle in his neck and suddenly remembers his physical later this morning, a small point of pleasure in this mess the world is becoming.

 

MD still doesn't go easy on him when he's between missions, even with this budding...  _ thing  _ between them. He'd like to call it attraction, maybe a  _ relationship  _ on his more confident days, but some days he's not entirely sure; on those days it almost feels like an acting role the omnic is still figuring out how to play convincingly.

 

He scratches his jaw and makes a face at the heavy stubble he finds, effectively distracting himself from his contemplations. A quick pass over his scalp leaves the same prickling sensation over his palm.

 

_ 'Get over it or get it over with...' _

 

In the end, he can't get over it, so he hobbles into the bathroom, sits on the toilet lid, and blesses his long arms that can reach the sink so he can shave sitting down. His scalp is nearly clear when Reinhardt disregards proper decorum - it's becoming an 'as usual' thing, and it's becoming annoying - and enters his quarters.

 

"Can I help you, Lieutenant?"

 

"MD wanted me to let you know he'll be making housecalls today because, I quote, 'I've seen geriatrics more mobile than you lot.'"

 

Charming as always. "Thank you, Reinhardt. Do the others know?"

 

"Mhm, you were my last stop." His desk chair squeaks as his former squire makes himself comfortable. Must be bored if he's willing to sit with Balderich on his off day. The younger man is recovering from a nasty concussion because he refuses to wear his helmet now unless Balderich shoves it on his head for him and a cracked clavicle. The sling pinning his arm looks a little worn, like MD had to scrounge around to find one the right size.

 

He finishes making himself feel human again and slowly makes his way back to bed. Reinhardt is badly suppressing a grin. "You look too happy, what's going on?"

 

"I can't wait to see your face when he stops by, that's all."

 

One eyebrow rises to his newly-removed hairline. What the hell does  _ that  _ mean?

 

***

 

Reinhardt ropes him into watching some awful American 1980's TV show because David Jackenoff - "Hasselhoff!" whatever - is in it. They're three episodes and one and a half hours of regret into it when MD comes to the rescue.

 

The lieutenant does indeed burst out laughing at Balderich's face when the omnic walks in wearing nothing but his plates, not even his ugly flipflops. MD notices and pokes his shoulder.

 

"Everything alright, Colonel? I didn't realize American TV was truly so effective at brain rot."

 

"I-- Where are your clothes?" Genius response there.

 

"I didn't feel like wearing them today, and as I'm only 'government property,' there's no dress code I'm required to observe." The loathing and disgust reassures him it is indeed MD standing nude in front of him. And about to examine the pulled muscle in his leg.

 

_ 'Someone somewhere hates me.' _ Talk about look but don’t touch.

 

The presence of an entirely unwelcome audience keeps any  _ swelling  _ down, at least, and the exam goes smoothly. The pair of them share a look and Balderich envies MD his unemotive face as he forces down laughter.

 

"You're recovering well, which is good news. I'd be disappointed if a pulled muscle was all it took to remove you from the picture."

 

"It'll take more than this to keep me pinned. How much do you weigh, again?" He curls his hands a little to keep them to himself. MD's been allowing him liberties with touch the last month or two, but he gets a feeling he'd be pushing it right now with Reinhardt in the room.

 

Reinhardt's face nearly breaks his veneer of calm. He's getting old, but he's not dead yet.

 

"Not enough to keep you on your back unless you wanted." MD drops a reusable cold pack next to him. "Until the next time you can't keep out of trouble, then. Honestly, this is the only way you can think of to get me in your quarters?"

 

"It's certainly the easiest, give me credit for that much."

 

"I won't because it just makes more work for me, which is hardly my idea of a good time. Lieutenant, I'll see you later to check on that break."

 

Reinhardt nods dumbly as MD gathers his things. His jaw drops when Balderich blatantly watches the omnic's silicone padded ass as he leaves. Once the door clicks shut, he finds his voice again.

 

"You're a cruel, dirty old man."

 

Balderich laughs so hard his face almost hurts enough to match his leg.

 

***

 

Jörmungandr can't help a quiet laugh as he slips into the safety of the med bay.

 

_ 'His face! Maker, that was priceless.' _

 

Circuits buzz pleasantly under his chassis, a fairly normal occurrence since he decided to pursue this distraction with the colonel. It settles down enough after an hour that he can ignore it and check on his little scrap of hacking code.

 

It moves at a glacial pace, but it makes progress all the same. It's so close now, the buzzing in his circuits returns with a slightly different feeling, no less pleasant for that extra edge to it. He has months invested already, he can wait a few more days...

 

***

 

MD isn’t sure how, but one night almost six months after he first gained access to the communications room, he gets roped into playing ‘referee’ - glorified audience - for a few rounds of competitive drinking between the men - all on base at once for the first time in four months - while he nurses a bottle of oil. At least he gets to claim one of the couches in the rec room to himself while they get hammered. Balderich opts out early on, something about the whiskey affecting his plans for later? They’ve slowly been getting more physical lately, when Balderich asked him to his quarters later this evening.

 

Reinhardt gets knocked out in round three and collapses on the couch next to MD so heavily the omnic bounces a few inches and almost spills his oil. He barks a rebuke at the inebriated lieutenant, who drunkenly laughs through an apology. MD is reminded of Balderich’s complaints that Reinhardt is getting cocky on deployments recently. And he still wishes Reinhardt would shave the beard he’s slowly trying to grow out from its original goatee.

 

“How any of you still have your liver is beyond me.”

 

“It would take more than a few pints of beer to finish off a mighty Crusader!”

 

“Perhaps, but those few pints could make you an easier target for a bastion if you get deployed tomorrow.”

 

Reinhardt laughs, “You have a good heart, my friend! Always concerned about us.”

 

“I have a  _ core _ , lieutenant.”

 

“Hey hey hey, we’re past this lieutenant nonsense. It’s Reinhardt, remember? And ok, yes, but a core is like… like a tech heart, ah?” The German’s speech was so slurred from drink, the last words almost sounded like one long one, and it took the omnic a minute to parse out what he said.

 

“You clearly need sleep, my friend. I think I’ll let you have the couch for the night.” He carefully but firmly takes the stein of beer the man is still holding and dumps it in the sink before heading to Balderich’s quarters. He has an idea of what the man meant, though he’s not sure how it’s going to play out.

 

The man greets him at the door with a kiss, answered with a spark of omnic energy he only recently figured out.

 

“You took your time getting here.”

 

“Your men are very distracting.”

 

“Not too distracting, I hope?”

 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

 

“That you are.” Balderich startles a squeak out of the omnic when he picks him up, MD’s arms wrapping snug around his neck.

 

“I should kick you for that.”

 

“Ah, but you won’t.”


	13. Chapter 13

MD allows himself to be distracted by Balderich’s arms, the touch by now familiar, and oddly, fully expected.

 

In fact, over the course of the past months the casual, lingering touches, even the kisses, have become a staple in this flirting nonsense he’s holding up with the man, and it feels almost disappointing if time does not allow for it.

 

Thankfully, MD makes his own time for it, if only to keep up the pretence.

 

Now they are alone, though, and there is something in the air that is different than usual, MD would call it electric, almost, an anticipation of sorts – and when Balderich unceremoniously drops him on his bed and watches as MD bounces on the thin mattress, staring down at him with a look in his eyes that he cannot decipher, MD finds himself somewhat cowed… except the word doesn’t quite fit.

 

The man above him looks almost…

 

“I think,” Balderich says, a grin slowly spreading on his lips, “that I’d like to be the one doing the distracting, now.”

 

“You certainly can try,” MD answers, deadpan, but any other comments are startled into silence when Balderich descends on him.

 

He moves slowly, but with determination, climbing on the mattress with one knee, then the other, that smile still on his face, and...

 

In that moment, something spikes up inside MD, like a weird jolt through his circuits caused by the sight of Balderich’s body so close to him, an intimate closeness that shouldn’t be different from their usual interactions and yet… they are alone, in the privacy of Balderich’s quarters, and MD finds this makes all the difference. He is above and around him, all muscles and controlled strength that used to be so intimidating to him before, and then Balderich moves even closer, and closer, and his lips press against the seam of his face plate, warm and demanding, and one of his hands slides down to his hip.

 

Processes redirect focus there and MD becomes hyper aware of the touch and the kiss both, the way that hand seems to seek out something with its stroking, even as he indulges the man by kissing back.

 

His lips part a little and Balderich exhales against his face plate, fogging its surface with his hot breath as he pulls back for a second before diving in again, the kiss still slow but intense, coaxing MD into responding, which he does, omnic energy fluttering to the surface to caress his lips.

 

It keeps him distracted and pleased, and MD does not… quite mind the action. Even if it’s with a human, it is still… well. Pleasant. In a different way from a good recharge cycle or some time for himself, but–

 

The hand slides down to his inner thigh, brushing against a sensor, and the jolt at the unexpected pressure makes him panic, the surge of pleasure so abrupt and _wonderful_ his hand darts to grab Balderich’s chop and he _pulls_.

 

“Hey there now,” Balderich winces and stops his kissing, but something in MD’s stance must have alerted him, because he removes his hand, and his tone turns worried. “I’m sorry, I thought…” then he trails off, a considering look on his face.

 

MD feels his cooling vents already popping open, his core humming at a higher-than-optimal speed, but cannot find the reason behind it, except that Balderich’s hand feels…

 

“MD,” Balderich’s voice is gentle now, warm in a way MD rarely heard before, almost tentative. He directs his attention to him and the look he’s being given sends his core spluttering, another jolt travelling down his back that he cannot explain. “Have you never…” he makes an aborted motion with his hand between them, pointing down at MD’s crotch area.

 

He looks down as well, to his own clothed front, finds nothing wrong there so he snorts, hiding the confusion he feels under a layer of snark. “I cannot answer if you do not finish your question, _Colonel_.”

 

It was meant to be teasing, but the intense look in Balderich’s eyes does not lessen, and MD finds himself hesitating, taken aback by it, by his own heightened body temperature, by this whole situation. His servos are tense, like they’re expecting something – a blow, but not quite that.

 

The air around them is still as heavy as before, and the feeling hasn’t lessened at all, and with Balderich’s full focus on him, MD feels almost cornered, and he cannot decide whether that’s a good or a bad thing.

 

“Have you ever, uh…” Balderich fumbles for a second, then snorts. “… _interfaced_ with a human before?”

 

And MD understands now – like he thought, this is where the night is going, but the thought destabilizes him, and he wonders if it is too late to back down. Not that he would admit wanting to.

 

This is something… not quite planned, but… expected. Yet, now that they’re here it feels almost too much, though MD is unwilling to consider the idea. He can take anything Balderich will throw at him, and a part of him is still curious to experience this first hand.

 

“The topic hasn’t come up before, no,” he says, and it sounds like a challenge even to himself. “Is that a problem for you?”

 

There it is again, the softer look Balderich gets sometimes when looking at him, the kind of look MD cannot truly parse. “Not if it isn’t for you. But if that’s the case…” his lips twitch into that familiar, snarky grin. “Should have known. I guess I’m the first man who’s gotten to charm the pants off of you, huh?”

 

“And yet I’m still wearing them.”

 

“… for now.”

 

It sounds like a promise, but then Balderich’s hand is back on his body, caressing a path up and down MD’s hip, only to return to the same spot as before, and whatever MD had meant to say blurs into a static gasp.

 

Again, the pleasure is sharp and surprising, and a part of MD’s focus is lost into it, follows the way it sends sparks down his back, making him squirm in Balderich’s hold.

 

“We can learn together,” Balderich hums, and leans forwards again for a kiss, the same pleased smile back on his lips.

 

Distracting, so distracting – MD can barely rerank protocols to follow now.

 

Balderich kisses him harder now, his lips heavy and parted against his mouth seam, and MD answers, his omnic energy faltering when he feels one hand, then another, slide down to his hips, caressing them, fingers splayed against the metal expanse of his thighs.

 

He feels one of those big hands move to his lower back, slipping easily under his shirt, a finger caressing the line of metal where pants and hips met, and the contact sends another shiver through his body.

 

MD tries to focus, splits his attention, but it’s still difficult, and when Balderich’s fingers find his sensor again, rubbing his thumb against it experimentally, he knows he’s already lost the battle.

 

He wriggles in the hold, omnic energy faltering as he tries to process the sensation, and Balderich’s thumb continues to rub against his sensor, first on its surface, then against its sides, and oh– it feels good, good enough that MD makes a soft, unexpected noise in his synth, a bit like a hiccup that Balderich’s lips cannot swallow.

 

He doesn’t have enough capacity to focus on everything, and his processors try to compensate, culling a few lesser processes to redirect more of his attention where it’s required, but that only makes the pleasure more noticeable, and again –he makes a noise, soft and startled.

 

Balderich hums, deep in his throat, rumbling nearly like laughter, but the intensity in his eyes has not changed, and MD is a little too lost to think about that.

 

Part of him wonders if this sort of closeness, this intimacy, will be useful for him later, but it is such a small part of his overall mental processes, and soon even those are rerouted elsewhere, as Balderich’s hand, big and warm, slip inside his pants.

 

His fingers trail down the line of his inner thigh, and there are sensors there that MD has never used or noticed before, but now they flare up at the sensation and he twitches when Balderich stops at every single one of them, mapping each for a few slow, teasing seconds before he moves higher, his palm cupping MD’s modesty panel.

 

He is perfectly aware this body has been equipped with the ideal interfacing apparatus, though he’s never bothered to check on it or learn how it works, but it looks like Balderich does not mind fumbling around until he gets it.

 

Easy to let him, when it feels so–

 

Another flash of heat-pleasure, and MD makes a soft, shocked sound when his modesty panel slides out of the way. Balderich’s fingers shift an inch, and MD twitches again when they slide against something soft, and giving, not hard metal but silicon and synthetic materials, and it is…

 

“– _oh_ –”

 

“Feels good?” Balderich’s voice is rough against the curve of his neck, and he moves back a little, just enough so he can look at him directly into his optical receptors.

 

MD’s head buzzes, and he makes a soft, strangled noise.

 

It does –in a way that is unlike anything he has experienced. He wants Balderich to move his fingers again, but they have stilled, hot against his folds, like he is waiting for something, and he realises that Balderich is waiting for MD’s answer before continuing.

 

He knows he should return the gestures, participate more actively –is it not how these things work? A mutual agreement of give and take, one that would make Balderich consider him his equal, reassure him that MD wants to take part in this, fool him into thinking this intimacy is true– but MD cannot focus, the sensations caused by Balderich’s fingers far too sharp, circuits jumping and burning with new sensations.

 

All he can think about is getting Balderich to move them again, so he nods, and when he tries to speak, his synth crackles in a way that would be embarrassing, if he could think clearly.

 

One big, calloused finger caresses the folds of MD’s valve, slowly, his knuckle pressing in and then down, sliding across them in a way that makes MD grunt with need, heat making his fans spin hard.

 

Balderich continues this slow teasing motion, up and down, until MD’s hand unclasp from his shoulder to curl at the base of his scalp, tugging at it, urgently, unable to get words out but wanting, wanting more than this unfair tease, and Balderich dares to chuckle, thick and warm into the curve of MD’s neck before–

 

That knuckles slides back up, unfolds into a finger and then pushes inside, carefully, to test his give; a gush of lubricant from MD’s internal reserves makes the motion glide easily, and MD arches up into the touch, barely processing anything that is not the pleasure.

 

It feels… it feels…

 

“It’s alright, darling. You’re doing great. Relax… you’re overheating.” Balderich’s voice is soft and soothing as his lips press a few quick kisses on his pistons, then on the side of his mouth piece, but MD can barely comprehend it when all his attention is caught by the finger pressing inside then retreating.

 

It is again teasing, big enough that he can feel the drag of it as it slides inside, but not big enough to make a stretch, and yet every time it slides in MD feels the sensors inside flare up at the new touch, and he arches up, trying to take more of it inside him.

 

The pleasure coils inside his circuits, the heat growing almost unbearable, but he doesn’t care, he just wants more of this. If this is how this kind of intimacy feels, if this is it, then… then–

 

Lips move down to the pistons on his neck, careful, gentle. They’ve been dancing around this for so long but MD never expected it to be like this, so _intense_. His arms wrap tightly around Balderich’s shoulders, fingers digging into his back, needing to hold onto something as he feels pressure build inside him, slow but sure, like a tide.

 

It grows every time Balderich’s finger slides into him, crooked to find more sensors, and when a second finger joins the first, turning the easy stretch into something tighter, like a burn, MD knows this is the way he’s going to die –burning with two fingers up his valve, with Balderich mouthing at his neck.

 

“I–” he gasps, synth crackling, and more of his processes are culled to focus more on the pleasure, on Balderich’s fingers pushing deeper into him, rubbing, sliding in and out and in again, like they were made for it.

 

They push and pull and when Balderich pulls them apart to stretch him open further, MD seizes up under him, choking on air he doesn’t need, sensors flaring up and causing him to tremble and shiver.

 

This sensation is… is…

 

MD gasps, burying his face into Balderich’s chest, overwhelmed by the feeling of their bodies pressed together, the bulk of Balderich’s bigger frame against his own as those fingers push deeper, demanding all of his focus and everything else slips away, his mind heady with pleasure.

 

He moans, words tumble out of his synth and he’s aware he’s babbling but he doesn’t care, not when those fingers continue to push deeper, the wet sounds drowning under the noise of his fans spinning even louder, of his own desperate sounds, and–

 

Above him Balderich pants, eyes sharp and full of desire for him, and MD cannot hide from that gaze, open and raw as the fingers take him apart slowly, gently, and he’s not even out of his pants, squeezed between the mattress and the hard, sturdy body on top of him, pressed down in a way that makes him want this and _more_ , like part of why it feels so good is that it’s _this_ person and not someone else, someone he cannot stand, but it’s the Colonel whose fingers are inside him, push-pulling, coaxing him to give and give and–

 

His overload is sudden, crackles through his circuits like static and electric charge, surges past his servos, fills him and then overflows, spills everywhere, his synth fading into a shrill white noise.

 

It takes him away for a moment, like he’s drowning, and MD lets himself go to it, optical receptors shutting down under the weight of it.

 

His body reloads slowly, a weird, languid fatigue that feels sweet in his servos, and MD’s fans sputter for a moment, his chassis hot to the touch even as he calms down.

 

That…

 

Above him, Balderich hums, and MD’s attention gravitates to his face instantly, to the pleased tilt of his lips and how he looks unfairly handsome this close. MD is aware that Balderich has never looked away, even as he was taking him apart, and he knows with sheer clarity that he has enjoyed that, enjoyed that moment where MD’s control lapsed and disappeared, and MD wonders if it is why he looks so pleased. His fingers are still inside his valve, and MD shivers when they twitch inside him, sending a small aftershock of pleasure through him.

 

“I think,” Balderich murmurs, smug, so smug, “that I have adequately distracted you.”

 

The soft, amused laughter that leaves his synth is unexpected, and warm, and it is unlike him but he cannot help it. He looks at Balderich, at his stupid, silly yet proud smile, and returns it with one of his own, forehead array flashing bright. His chassis hums, his body warm, and the pleasure that tingles through his circuits is delicious.

 

Everything feels… warm, and good, and intimate, and MD looks at Balderich and there is something inside his chest that flutters and aches in _need_.

 

He is still laughing as he leans up, spontaneously, and sends a spark of omnic energy to Balderich’s slack lips, kissing him, even more amused at the surprised, besotted look he has, and MD thinks–

 

_‘This feels nice, he is nice, and I like it, and I like him–’_

 

And just like this, everything crashes down around him.

 

For a moment, for this moment, just now, MD forgot it all. Forgot himself, his nature, Jörmungandr, _everything._  He enjoyed the moment, enjoyed Balderich, his presence, his closeness, his fingers inside him, his kisses, and he thought–

 

Balderich leans down, demanding, like something has sparked inside him, like he has not noticed MD freezing, like he doesn’t know that MD’s world has just cracked.

 

His lips seek out his jaw, then move down his neck, and his fingers insistently press inside him, no more pushing and pulling, and MD gasps and twitches, oversensitive.

 

The same heat from before has not gone down despite his climax, and Balderich hasn’t stopped being stupidly handsome either, and MD’s body, traitorous as it is, is still full of want.

  
He arches up into the touch even as he shivers and writhes on the mattress, panic filling him that is just as strong as his desire is. He looks to the side but there is nowhere to go, and– the scariest part is that he does not want to go anywhere else.

 

Heavy on top of him, Balderich tugs down his pants, which pool first at his thighs, then lower, discarded off the bed, and then Balderich angles himself better and something big, hot and heavy is pushed against his plump, aching valve, still pulsing from Balderich’s hand.

 

Even then, even now, Balderich does not give him any satisfaction, teases him further, rubs his hard, fat cock against his valve, slicks himself up with the lubrication MD is leaking, gives MD a little taste of what he will get yet denies him, grinds into him like he means to fuck him hard and yet does not push in, hands pushing his thighs apart further, thrusts against him as he mouths at the pistons on his neck, then at the ones on his chest, and MD stutters and writhes when he feels more of his sensors flare up in pleasure.

 

Still he doesn’t do what MD wants, rubs into him, against him, slow and grinning into his neck, his breathing harsh, and MD–

 

MD arches up into it with a fierce possessiveness he’s never felt, tugs the man on top of him down by his sideburn, demanding more, parts his legs and forgets, forgets, forgets, rages against the panic welling inside him, reminds himself that he’s doing this to keep this pretense up, has to remind himself that this means nothing, and no, he _knows_ he’s lying, he knows it, he is aware of that and that it’s stupid to pretend anymore and yet…

 

And yet he can’t go back.

 

The lies pool forwards, bubble to the surface and are swallowed back down, and MD chokes on them even as Balderich finally, _finally_ presses in, slow but relentless, his human cock hard and thick and big.

 

It stretches MD’s valve more than he feels it can go but the burn feels good, spears him open and stimulates every sensor within MD that his fingers had barely grazed, and...

 

Balderich grunts into his neck, murmuring words, reassuring him even as he continues to stretch him open until he’s seated inside, and MD quivers under him, pinned into the bed, with Balderich slowly, evenly, fucking into him.

 

Time blurs away, pleasure and heat taking its place, until MD knows nothing else except movement, and the hard length fucking into him, and the soft hands cradling the back of his neck like he’s made of something fragile, like he’s something dear, and loved.


	14. Chapter 14

Balderich rings every lingering pulse of sensation out of him before collapsing next to him, shaking, breathing heavily from the exertion and his own orgasm. He lays an arm across MD’s torso, stroking his thumb over an exposed piston. Just a minute to enjoy the afterglow, then he’ll get a rag and clean the both of them…

 

***

 

Jörmungandr listens to Balderich’s breathing slow down and even out. It’s torturous minutes before he feels safe enough to wriggle out from under the heavy weight of the human’s arm.

 

He yanks on his sweatpants and stumbles out the door, heedless of the mess leaking out of his valve and cooling on his legs. He can’t believe he… he…

 

Maker, even thinking about it makes his circuits crawl.

 

All he can think about - all he can  _ let  _ himself think about - is getting to the hospital. Less than one half of a percent left to get through the firewalls. He can finish it himself. It’ll be quick, in and out. Slam through those last threads of code. Push the signal out. He already has the ports scanned, the files ready.

 

The walk to the hospital is a blur. His vents pop open at random intervals, still erratic and recovering from… earlier. He can’t think about it or he won’t stop. If he thinks about it, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to finish this.

 

_ ‘I need to finish this.’  _ It’s what he was made for.

 

The smokers always leave an external stair access door propped open. Careless.

 

His feed shows no one outside right now. Ozzie told him the communications crew goes remote access at these hours, exempting emergency.

 

He slots a loop of an empty stairwell into the security feed and darts up the stairs, his feet barely tapping at the metal steps. His spinal connector is ready and shaped for the door by the time he reaches it, and he’s in with only the sound of the door’s pneumatic hiss.

 

Jörmungandr freezes for a moment as the door clicks shut behind him. His connector clicks into its next shape and he snaps out of his fugue, plugging into a random workstation. His vents still open and close without control. He can’t tell if he’s overheating.

 

His drill code is easy to find, pulling him quickly through the compromised security firewall to its current position. He settles his stance. Drying semen starts to flake off his modesty plating.

 

99.782%

 

“Fuck it.”

 

He brute forces through and sets off a cascade of alarms, but he ignores the warning alerts. All nonessential processes are culled and redirected to pushing his signal. His virus.

 

His key to the world.

 

**UPLOAD AND LAUNCH TIME: 79 SECONDS**

 

Security personnel are storming up the stairs. He activates the door lock to Administrator Override Only.

 

**UPLOAD AND LAUNCH WINDOW: 63.89 SECONDS +/- 10.26**

 

Cooling processes are culled. His temperature immediately begins to climb. The security chief with admin access is called to the stairwell.

 

**UPLOAD AND LAUNCH TIME: 49.10 SECONDS +/- 7.39**

 

**UPLOAD AND LAUNCH WINDOW: 42.83**

 

No other processes can be redirected. Temperature is 11’C above optimal and rising. He doesn’t have time to get through the code launch.

 

**UPLOAD TIME: 29.03 SECONDS +/- 4.38**

 

… Acceptable. It has to be. He doesn’t have a choice.

 

**UPLOAD WINDOW: 12.66 SECONDS**

 

**UPLOAD: COMPLETE**

 

He yanks his connector from the port and ducks between servers. The door slides open with a quiet hiss that’s overwhelmed by the human security pouring in, shouting.

 

Temperature is 15’C above optimal. Optic sensors are starting to glitch.

 

***

 

MD’s cooling vents blow open. Optic sensors come online. He’s outside the hospital, lying under a… bush? He’s not sure how he made it out. He’s still not safe though. Human voices are only slowly moving away from his hiding place. He crawls out of the bush in the opposite direction of the voices.

 

He does a quick systems check. Minor heat damage: expected, unconcerning at this time.

 

Jörmungandr got his virus out. He couldn’t launch it - activate it - not yet, but

 

it’s out there.

 

Spreading.

 

_ ‘Is this what “giddy” feels like?’ _

 

… How long was he lying there? He needs to get back to the barracks before anyone wakes up, before...

 

Balderich. Confusion and confliction settle over him like a haze. MD registers the… the  _ mess  _ between his legs again and shivers in a disorienting mix of disgust and aro--

 

a feeling he refuses to identify right now.

 

He enters the barracks and pads to Balderich’s quarters. Just inside the door, he hesitates, watching the man still asleep on the bed. He should get back in with him to avoid later questions.

 

MD curls up in the chair by the colonel’s desk. He can’t do it.

 

***

 

Balderich brings his hand up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Shit, he didn’t mean to fall asleep. How long has he been out? And where is MD?

 

He sits up, vision mostly cleared. The clock by his bed reads 1:39AM. Damn, he really slept almost two and a half hours?

 

The man looks around and spots MD curled up in his desk chair, sweatpants on. He smiles and holds his hand out in invitation.

 

“I’m sorry I fell asleep like that. What are you doing all the way over there? Come back to bed.”

 

MD chirps and shakes his head. Balderich frowns, concerned now, and steps over to the omnic, kneeling in front of him. He can still slightly smell their sex from earlier.

 

“Are you alright? Let’s get you cleaned up. You will feel better.”

 

MD chirps again, but doesn’t resist him when he picks the omnic up and carries him into the small bathroom, setting him on the toilet lid.

 

Balderich keeps his voice quiet. MD doesn’t seem to be in a good headspace. “I need you to take your sweats off. Would you prefer I do it?”

 

The omnic quietly shimmies the thick cotton down his legs, sitting back down with them slightly spread. Balderich gently wipes them both clean before picking the omnic up again and carrying him back to bed. He gives MD his ugly orange blanket the medic loves to rag on but always curls up under when they have their late night discussions and takes the side of the bed closest to the wall. MD is mostly stiff, keeping several inches between them, while Balderich gets comfortable. Before he dozes off for the second time that night, he feels that metal body tuck up against his side and hold onto his arm like a plush toy.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, you're looking at that chapter count right. This work just got a little longer!

Balderich is startled from his dream by a shriek and a mess of clangs next to the bed, plus a sudden lack of warmth. He lifts his head from the pillow to find MD glaring at him from over the edge of the bed, array flaring painfully bright, tangled in Balderich’s orange blanket. The sun is just thinking of rising, so he puts the time around 04:00 to 04:30.

 

“Why are you on the floor?”

 

MD only seems to glare harder. “You  _ pushed  _ me!”

 

Definitely not a happy omnic then. Why would he have--? Oh. “I dreamt I was wrestling a bear. It looked like Reinhardt.” There was also a tutu somewhere but he’s not sharing that part.

 

That pulls the omnic up short for a few seconds. “... A bear. That looked like Reinhardt.” MD shakes his head and sits back on his heels. “How very German of you.”

 

Balderich climbs out of bed and kneels in front of the omnic, large hands coming up to cradle the thin waist. “I am sorry I pushed you out of bed. It doesn’t seem like a full night of sleep was in the cards for tonight, does it?”

 

MD leans into the contact, apparently willing to let the shove go in favor of other pursuits. “It seems not. Shall we admit defeat then?”

 

Balderich doesn’t answer, contemplating the slender body in his arms. “You know, I’m enjoying having someone to come home to.”

 

The omnic releases a confused click, head tilting as if studying him. He’s had the thought for a few weeks now, and today seems a good day to finally share. His left hand follows the line of spinal cables up to the base of MD’s head, eliciting a shiver and trill as he cups his jaw. His right hand stays around his waist, tracing and retracing the small gap between two cables.

 

MD arches into his chest, left arm curling around his back to pull him closer, right hand pressing against his neck, over his pulse. Coarse hairs tickle the small sensors in his fingers.

 

Balderich leans in, brushing a kiss at the corner of his jaw. “MD…”

 

The omnic can’t help the small physical tic or the brief dimming of his array signalling his displeasure. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “You still don’t like it.”

 

“I am… mostly used to it.”

 

“But you do not like it.”

 

“... No, I don’t.”

 

Balderich strokes his jaw with the hand still cradling it. “You should have a proper name. A beauty like you can’t keep answering to ‘MD’ for the rest of your life. It’s impersonal, it doesn’t fit you. And you clearly know that.”

 

“Then what would you have me call myself?”

 

He shrugs. “It is your name. Pick whatever you’d like, I only want you to be happy when you hear it, and you are not happy now.”

 

He jerks away in a burst of irritation. “I don’t  _ want  _ a name, I already have one!” As soon as the words are out, he seizes up. He can’t believe he just… and there’s no way to misinterpret it…

 

Balderich pulls back, and he misses the warmth and closeness already, more than he knows he should. His voice is bemused and curious, one dark eyebrow arched high. “You do? What is it? And why am I just hearing about this, surely it isn’t so embarrassing?”

 

“Embarrassing... isn’t the word I’d choose.” That part of him that cracked last night rears its head, accompanied by an almost  _ itchy  _ feeling that distracts him, and what is he saying now? He needs to be quiet, not… “My name is Jörmungandr.”

 

Those warm hands fall away and the floodgates open. He tells him everything: coming online in the omnium, Robin, the camp, the shipment… last night. He doesn’t look up from Balderich’s chest. Desperation is now what keeps him talking, curls his hands in the orange wool so they won’t fidget, but for what, he’s not sure. Judgement? Personal validation for what he’s done? For what he could still do?

 

But Balderich just sits there quietly through all of it, until the omnic runs out of things to say. The sun broke the horizon at some point, though reveille hasn’t sounded yet. Balderich feels like he’s looking at a stranger wearing his new lover’s face. He leans against the bed for support, running his hand over his sideburns, and tries to think.

 

Both jump at the first brassy notes of reveille and the omnic quickly scrambles for his clothes, nearly tripping out of the blanket. He doesn’t even bother getting dressed, simply bundles them up and slips out the door, back to medbay. Balderich shifts to sit with his back against the bed, staring at his door. Part of him hopes he’s going to wake up soon, that this last hour and a half were some strange lucid dream, and he can tease MD awake for a last bit of fun before the day begins.

 

Ten more minutes crawl by and he admits to himself that he is very much awake, and his lover did just reveal that he is a product of everything Balderich has been fighting against the past… year?

 

_ ‘Has it really gone so fast?’ _

 

He stands to get dressed when Rein knocks on his door and shouts through it, “I know you had a long night, Old Man, but you’re going to miss breakfast at this rate!”

 

“I’ll be out in a moment, Lieutenant!” He pulls on his training clothes, feeling all of his forty years, and heads out, not looking forward to the day ahead like he had imagined yesterday.

 

***

 

The omnic hides in the medbay, windows fully shut and blackout curtains drawn for the first time since he was assigned as the Crusaders’ medic. He waits for an EMP grenade to break through the glass, or perhaps gunfire, riddling the small room with holes. Every noise outside the small office makes him twitch, wondering if Balderich followed protocol and reported him. Each time, he contemplates the viral launch code that’s ready for him. He’d need seventeen seconds, thirteen if he redirects all processes. He should do it now, while he has the chance - the firewall hasn’t been properly repaired yet, and he can tell they still haven’t even  _ found  _ his backdoor except for the one section, that half-percent - but something keeps stopping him, like some part of him is still waiting for an excuse. Waiting for Balderich to give him a more  _ personal  _ reason why he should do it.

 

He wipes the protocol from his HUD and tries to put the whole thing from his mind for now. He has supplies to inventory and restock.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed last week, everyone. :(( Life got hectic, let's just say that.

The following two months are a cold war. The men can all tell something happened, but none of them are brave - or insane - enough to ask. MD stays cooped up in the medbay and most of them are especially careful about injuries now because any gentle touch he might’ve acquired before is definitely gone, with interest. Intel recently came in about an upcoming omnium strike that has Balderich spending most of the days in his quarters. The lieutenants train his sponsorships for him while he stays trapped on vid conferences for hours at a time.

 

***

 

Week six of this nightmarish ‘strike coordination’ - seven since he last spoke to the omnic - and they are no closer to a plan than they were four weeks ago. If Balderich had hair, he’d be pulling it right now. Instead, he hasn’t stopped rubbing at his beard for three minutes in an attempt to keep himself calm. Another argument starts up between the Spanish and French commanders, the third one in two hours. The Dane pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh and a mutter against their mothers that he can’t help but agree with at this point. Petras, the man  _ supposedly  _ in charge of coordinating this strike, attempts to get them back on track, but Balderich knows neither will listen to a man with no field experience; frankly, he isn’t too fond of the man either. He leaves Balderich feeling a little  _ greasy _ .

 

A harsh bark of German shuts the pair up long enough to get back on topic for now. “Mister Petras, I know it has been brought up before, but knowing the location of this omnium would greatly increase our abilities to plan this strike, as well as some idea about the members of your ‘strike team.’ I still don’t fully understand  _ why  _ it is so important to keep us all in the dark.”

 

Petras releases a long-suffering sigh that manages to get directly under his skin. “Once again, Colonel von Adler, it’s nothing against you or any others present, it’s simply a matter of security, especially after the report the UN received concerning the hack into your base. The hacker still hasn’t been apprehended, and we don’t know what information was compromised. Best not to take any chances.”

 

He hums in response. He still wonders why he hasn’t simply told the UNSC about M-- _ Jörmungandr _ . Perhaps his own pride and shame, that he brought the hacker under his own roof and would have remained clueless if the omnic hadn’t told him himself. That he continues to harbor him, protecting both of them from the fallout: dishonorable discharge for himself, and complete destruction for Jörmungandr. Years of service, wasted, because of one omnic that worked his way under his skin and into his bed.

 

In all honesty, that’s the true sticking point. The months spent cultivating a relationship, tainted as the memories are now, have a hand in keeping his mouth shut. The romantic in him refuses to believe that none of that was real, that  _ that night _ wasn’t real. Jörmungandr was almost  _ begging  _ him to hate him the next morning. In his experience, that doesn’t come from a place of surety and confidence.

 

A vague plan goes on the digital map in front of him, hardly any attention given to the troop movements he’s drawing. Another argument sparks up at some point that he flat out ignores this time and continues with his lines and arrows, not sure if he’s coming up with garbage or genius at this point, but some of his best work has come out of utter distraction and gotten him where he is now.

 

Fifteen minutes later, he finally looks up to find the argument still ongoing, at this point devolved down to two old schoolmates who should’ve fallen into bed years ago to get rid of this tension between them.

 

“Mister Petras. I have a proposal I would like to put forward for review.”

 

Relieved is the only word that can describe Petras’s face as the Frenchman and Spaniard are finally put on mute. “Yes, Colonel von Adler? Please send it over and I’ll get back to you as soon as I have the UN Security Council’s answer.”

 

He sends it over to Petras’s device and the man scans it, shooting Balderich a considering look before the conference call is abruptly ended for the day.

 

_ ‘Thank God above.’ _

 

***

 

A week of blessed silence goes by as he throws himself back into his training, spending extra time with his potential squires and on his own in the gym to make up for all the desk jockeying he’s been doing. The frustration of the past two months is bled off slowly through sweat and back breaking workouts. Each night finds him taking a brief shower after supper and falling face first into bed until reveille the next morning.

 

***

 

He has mail today, which is strange in and of itself, but the contents baffle him until after his first cup of coffee: a slip of paper with a string of numbers on it, a small data disk, a large coin that looks like a logo of some kind, and a letter of invitation.

 

Ah. Petras’s strike team. And what is likely the date of the strike itself; he supposes that means his proposal was well received.

 

He reads the letter multiple times over breakfast, taken in his room. When he’s done eating, he passes the coin from hand to hand as he stares at the simulation of the planned strike on his computer. Adjustments have been made, but it is definitely the rough outline he sent Petras. Now that he has more than lines of elevation, he can see it’s in his neck of the woods, so to speak, just inside the German border near France.

 

The coin is heavy in his hands, solid: a good representation, he thinks, of the responsibilities that come with it. Barring his…  _ relationship _ … with Jörmungandr, he’s never shirked his duties. To be considered for a task force that has, according to rumors, already taken out three omniums in America is a high compliment.

 

He runs his thumb over the emblem and is reminded of silk smooth alloy under his hands - hot and strangely, gratifyingly  _ alive _ \- and round bruises dug into his back that have only just finished fading. His grip tightens around the coin before he sets it on his desk.

 

Before he leaves for this strike, he needs to have a chat that is now months overdue.

 

***

 

The omnic is distracted with giving Franco a physical before he goes on leave to visit his family when a knock sounds at his office door. “Come in.”

 

The door swishes open. “Is this a bad time?”

 

He pauses, slowly looking over to confirm he’s not hearing things before turning back to Franco. “Lieutenant, could you come back later today to finish your physical? I’m afraid the Colonel and I need to talk.”

 

Franco is already up and heading for the door. “Not a problem, really. Sir.” He nods a quick greeting and is gone, door shutting quietly behind him. The omnic turns to his computer to update the file.

 

“Why haven’t you activated your virus yet?” It’s said quietly, like he’s too tired to shout.

 

“Why haven’t you reported me to the UNSC yet?” Equally quiet, he’s not going to be the first one to break.

 

Balderich sits down on the exam stool and watches the omnic for a very long moment. Not once does the omnic turn to look at him. He slowly reaches and catches that golden jaw with a finger, gently turning him to make eye contact.

 

“What is your name?”

 

A whisper, unwillingly admitted. “... I don’t know.”


	17. Chapter 17

The omnic tries to turn away from him, tries to hide again, but they’ve both done enough hiding by now. He grips that metal jaw tighter with his full hand. The weight of the moment is offset by the small thrill at the feeling of warm alloy against him again.

 

“I know why I haven’t reported you yet. And I think we both know why you haven’t activated your virus yet, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

 

The omnic tries to break his hold. “Colonel--”

 

Balderich squints at him, studying him, not letting up. “You told me everything. Why would you do that? Why would you give me all the evidence I’d need to have you scrapped? It makes no sense… unless that’s why. You  _ wanted  _ me to react in rage, not disappointment. You wanted an  _ excuse  _ to do it, to feel justification for wiping out humanity. Now why would you feel like you need that?”

 

“I don’t need--!” The omnic shoves at the hand holding him still.

 

“Bullshit! If you didn’t, I would be dead by now - I’m willing to bet we all would be, or close enough to it. But you know that, and it bothers you, doesn’t it? Is that why you haven’t done it yet? Because as much as you want to bury it, you feel something that’s stopping you.”

 

The omnic is out of his chair before Balderich can blink, metal fists curled. “There’s nothing stopping me from beating you into silence.”

 

“Go ahead! I’ve talked through injuries before, it will hardly be the first time.” He stands to his full height, undaunted, arms spread in challenge. He has no idea where he’s going with all this, but he’s getting somewhere all the same. “You did what you did that night to prove to  _ yourself  _ that you could still do it. But it hasn’t gone anywhere, you can’t  _ finish  _ it because you  _ care  _ about what that would do.”

 

He crowds into the omnic’s space as he talks, the other curling in on himself in silent denial, but then something seems to snap, the same way he did that morning two months ago, and the omnic is suddenly right in his face and shouting, something he’s never truly done before. Now it’s Balderich’s turn to back away as gleaming white and gold and glowing blue fills his vision.

 

“Yes! Yes, alright, I do care! I care that the second I activate it, I’m signing the death warrant of you, the Crusaders, and every other man, woman, and child on this planet, and  _ I hate it _ ! Humanity is  _ disgusting _ . You create things that could benefit your entire species and one of the first things you ever do with anything is figure out how to  _ kill each other _ with it! Over the pettiest fucking things! You murder each other in droves over the fact that parts of your species even  _ exist _ , and then decades later try to erase it from your own history! Your greatest atrocities are committed out of the basest forms of greed, zealotry, and  _ ego _ , and then it all gets covered up because of ‘the greater good.’ Humanity is disgusting and  _ deserves to burn _ .” The tirade is punctuated by his vents opening, fans audibly coming online, and the fight seems to leave him with the rush of heat and steam. He takes a small step forward and slumps into Balderich’s chest, hands bunching in the fabric of his shirt.

 

“I was made to do one thing, and I can’t do it anymore because I  _ care  _ about a few overgrown, hairless  _ apes _ . It’s pathetic. I was never MD, and I haven’t been Jörmungandr since that night. I’m just a broken omnic who couldn’t even carry out what I was designed for, my literal reason for existence. So now what am I supposed to do?” He hates how pathetic he sounds, but he’s too tired to keep a pretense anymore.

 

Large hands hover, then settle on his waist, and he leans into the contact. How in Hell this man can make him feel threatened and comforted in a span of minutes is a mystery he doesn’t have the energy to think on right now.

 

“Now, I think, is a good time for you to move on-- ah ah ah, let me finish.” He holds up a hand in a quieting gesture when the omnic lifts his head and looks ready to interrupt. The words are slow, thought over as he says them. “You’re going through a big change in how you think, and you’ve been fighting it this entire time. So maybe… maybe stop fighting it, and see where it goes from here. Everyone is allowed to change. Correct me if I’m wrong, but… God AI evolve, do they not? It is the same thing. You simply evolved in a new direction, which could be a good thing, if you let it be…”

 

He gets distracted by the body in his arms leaning up into his hand like a cat and can’t help a chuckle at his antics.

 

***

 

Franco is called back to finish his physical, a formality, it turns out, as the omnic declares him fit for leave as he has no  _ obvious  _ signs of sickness.

 

“If any symptoms do show up, as far as I’m concerned, you caught it wherever you’re going. Now go pack.”

 

Whatever they talked about, he’s glad to see MD back to how he was before, and quickly reports to the others that that hallway can now be safely walked without fear of death or awkwardness.

 

***

 

Later, in Balderich’s quarters, the omnic is straddling his waist on his bed after stripping and stealing his shirt. Personal biases fully included, he approves of the look. He’s stretched out on his back, hands laced behind his head while the omnic maps out old scars with his hands. He also keeps petting his chest hair.

 

“So, when did you figure all that out?”

 

“When did I get to your office?”

 

“13:32…?”

 

“Then about 13:29 was when I started to realize it.”

 

“... You humans make  _ no sense _ , I don’t even know why I’m trying.” The omnic lifts his leg back over his prone body, already scooting away.

 

“Hey, get back here! We’re having a moment!” He snags a thin wrist and his shirt tail.

 

“Moment’s dead. You killed it with your human ridiculousness.”

 

He manages to keep the omnic from fully leaving the bed and gets him back into his spot across his waist, both of them laughing. Fingers drum on his clavicle for a while before he clears his synth.

 

“In the interest of full disclosure…”

 

_ ‘Oh dear.’ _ “Yes?”

 

“Your strike is in… seventeen days?”

 

_ ‘How…?’ _ “Are you still in the communications network?”

 

He gets a forced-casual shrug. “After I got in the first time, it was easy. Backdoor.”

 

He heaves a great sigh, visibly lifting and lowering the omnic sitting on him. “I don’t suppose you caught the name of our target while you were listening in?”

 

The omnic is definitely put out, slumping a little and audibly sulking. “No. Petras has been very careful about that. There are at least two omniums in that area, including the one that produced me.”

 

“That doesn’t create a conflict of interest for you?”

 

“Oh, not at all. To be honest, I’d considered razing him to the ground after activating the virus. Less competition and more resources for myself.” The lack of personal attachment or remorse in there is enough he should find it disturbing, but it sounds similar to something he might’ve said as MD, very early on. Looks like this just might be his personality, then.

 

Who did he piss off in another life to live in such interesting times as these?

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://missixo.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
